Addek's Anatomy (OneShots)
by RulerOfAllThatIsEvilChiFlowers
Summary: OneShots and may be short stories of the couple some of us love so dearly. Ideas that popped in my head. Ideas that needs to be written down and explored. Enjoy! P.S. If you guys have any requests or story ideas, I'd be more than happy to grant them. Addison/Derek #Addek
1. Chapter 1 - 'It's Time'

_**Before the whole prom/black panties in said pocket/cheating debacle. . . .**_

* * *

 **"It's Time"**

* * *

"Dr. Shepherd..."

 _A knock._ The door opened. _A face._ His colleague. _A smile._ Not exactly. _A familiar smile._ It's filled with sorrow.

He looked up from the many scans scattered all over his table, a calming narrative, as she approached him slowly. _Wearily_. She didn't have to say a word.

Her face says it all.

 _It's time._

He was sitting, rooted in his seat, eye-to-eye with the the stern and sturdy resident.

 _It's time._

His office was in pin-drop silence. He don't think Bailey was even breathing. She was just staring at him. And he was just staring at her.

 _It's time._

There were no cases or surgeries to distract his rampant mind today. The past weeks, actually. All he has been doing for the past few months was waiting. _Waiting_. More waiting. And even more waiting for the _time_.

"Derek ..."

Her voice cracked at his name. She's Dr. Bailey. She does not crack. She should not crack. Because if she does, he would too and he does not know how to stop himself, if he could even stop himself.

 _It's bad, Derek._

And he knew what it meant. He knew he had to hurry. He knew it would just be a matter of hours. He knew it was today.

The worst possible day of his life.

The hardest geste one could ever face in their entire life.

Though he have been awaiting for this specific call for the past three months now, though he have tried to prepare himself for the inevitable, though he have accepted this nightmare, he doesn't want to do this. He cannot do this. He cannot believe this is it.

 _It's time._

"We're ..." her voice was a small whisper - so not like The Nazi - and she went back to being silent again.

He nodded in response. He doesn't want her to say it. He couldn't get himself to say a single word as well.

Not now. Not today.

 _Prepare yourself._ That is something routine for him, something he always say to the families of his patients. And that's something that shouldn't have ever been said to him.

He is not prepared. He never will be prepared.

No one can ever be ready. They're doctors. They should just treat this like it's any other patients. But it is hard when the patient is one of your own.

 _"It's time."_

The corners of his mouth twitched to a frown, his eyes stung at the impending tears. He's about to cry and he knows he shouldn't. He shouldn't cry. He doesn't want to. He have been crying for the past couple of months. He's tired of crying. But he has to.

This was the most painful feeling he has ever felt. It's indescribable.

Never will he wish this feeling upon his worst enemy.

But he's Derek Shepherd, he does not have any enemies.

"It's time, Shepherd."

* * *

Walking into the white luminescent room, a room he have walked into many times before, he was greeted by the presence of a Catholic priest.

Addison is not religious. _Not at all. Not by any means._ She doesn't believe of the Almighty above. She believes in science and concrete evidence that provides grounds and merits for a notion and to her, the holy book is not enough.

 _Why interfere with God's plan by trying to cure a sick man or save the life of a child with cancer? The cancer is God's plan, isn't it? Let it play out the way he wants._

She had read that somewhere, once. She shouldn't have because that was the beginning of her slipping away.

 _If God loved all His children, why would He have made her suffer?_

No parent would want such sorrow for their child.

So, having such figure in this room was quite the shock.

But today she had insisted.

She saw the calm, strength and the sense of tranquility the inhibitors - much like her - were in at the anointing, before they took their last breath and that was when - after watching roommates after roommates, after watching death's taking after death's taking - she knew she had to feel the same way before departing. It was what she had wished for her entire life.

 _Peace._

To be surrounded by the people she loved.

Addison have been here, at this very event, over a month ago when she still had the capacity to walk or to open her eyes for more than five minutes, but today, the roles are reversed.

 _She is the passing._

Derek swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded at the Father. Walking in, he saw peace and courage, he can sense the purity in this very room.

She's ready for eternal life.

 _But he isn't._

He isn't ready to let her go.

He shouldn't have let her go.

Even with what she has done to their marriage, he will, of course, forever care about her...love her.

Love like that don't just fade away.

It was senseless of him to not actually _actually_ try and work out their marriage. It was months and months of worthless and petty arguments. But he really thought he was trying to work things out with her.

He was so obtuse that it took him two innocent bruises the size of a tennis ball on her back and a confirmed diagnosis by the hospital's oncologist - the best of the best - to realise that he still very much cared for her, that despite his constant _I-don't-need-you_ , _I-don't-want-you_ , _I-don't-ever-want-to-see-you-again_ , he still needed her, he still wanted her and wanted to see her again and again and again

 _Alive._

And so he tore up the divorce papers she had previously given him - before her diagnosis - and told her that he's not signing.

 _... for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health ..._

"Don't don't sign it just because I'm dying, Derek! I don't need your pity right now! I'll be fine all by myself. I can take care of myself." she had screamed at him but he shook his head, adamant at his decision - he will stay by her side.

He still loves her.

Trying his best to grab onto her flailing and angry shoulders, to get her to calm down. "Listen to me." he grabbed her cheeks that were hot under his palms.

"No, Derek! You listen to me! I'm fine, okay. Just sign the goddamn papers already. It's what you've always wanted, right? Just do it then. I can do this myself. I can, I can die ..." but her words trailed off at that and she just stared past at nothing - she's thinking, he knows that - burst out crying, then. "I don't want to die alone, Derek!"

 _Nobody wants to die alone._

"I'm so scared ..."

Deep, wretched sobs erupted from her throat and she clung to him, and he held her just as tight, vowed to never let her go.

"I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry, Derek. I love you. I don't wanna leave you. Oh god, I don't want to die. I don't. I don't ..."

She have been fighting this uphill battle for months now, a battle where she's bound to lose. It was difficult for him to comprehend that maybe if it wasn't for him by her side, she would've been gone a long time ago.

She had insisted that she did not want to go through another round of chemo but he had practically forced her into doing it again. Even when the cancer cells did not abase at all. Even when the oncologist said there was just no hope, but they could try one more time. He just couldn't grasp the thought of her leaving him, leaving this world.

That there will be no Addison walking on earth.

Not his Addison, at least.

 _Just one last time, Addie. Please ..._

Maybe he should've listened to her.

Then, she wouldn't have to suffer again.

She did it for him. It was always for him.

 _Ok, Derek. I'll do it._

The chemotherapy was slowly killing her. He didn't see that then. His judgment was so clouded, so precarious, so desperate for her to live that he did not notice that the very dose was why she was slowly drifting away.

It was selfish of him. He was only thinking of himself.

 _No!_ He really thought she could fight the cancer. But, God, he was so wrong.

It, _he_ was slowing killing her.

"... In the letter of James, the word of God commends us; Is anyone among you sick? He shall summon the presbyters of the church ..." the priest begun and they all joined hands, praying for Addison.

Coming from a religious Catholic background, Derek have long discarded the religion. After his father was murdered, he just didn't want to believe anymore. One may say it was merely a test of his faith and trust in God. A test that he have clearly failed. It made no sense to him. It still doesn't. But this was her dying wish. He had to respect it.

"... Addison, through this holy anointing may the Lord in His love and mercy help you with the grace of the Holy Spirit." He continued on to drawing a cross on her forehead and the palms of her hand with the oil of sacrament, "May the Lord who frees you from sin save you and raise you up."

"Amen."

"Thank you, Father." Richard said as everyone else just continued to watch as she tried her hardest to take a single breath.

Derek felt helpless, standing idly by Mark and Archer.

He was defeated.

 _Everyone were._

It was slowly killing her. Slowly killing her bright smile, her enthusiasm and will to live. Now Derek would kill to see that glow in his wife's eyes. _Just once_. Just once so he would know that Addison would die with a sparkle and go out shining like the beautiful star she is. But that won't happen. He knows that in his heart; the chemo had taken away the Addison, the woman he had fallen in love with and left him with an empty shell that struggled to smile, who was barely recognisable.

It was the same with his father. He watched his father die and now, it's his wife.

Bailey went to sit by her side and wipe down her face that was drenched in cold sweat.

Addison was diagnosed with acute promyelocytic leukaemia, over a year ago, a rare form of acute myeloid leukaemia. A cancer of the white blood cells, characterised by an abnormal accumulation of immature granulocytes called promyelocytes in the bone marrow and by a translocation between chromosomes 15 and 17.

"Dr. Montgomery-Shepherd ..." her strong voice shook at the sight before her.

Her ocean blue eyes fluttered as she struggled to stay conscious, to fight the fog that threaten her to go into the light.

She hoped there is one for her.

For all her sins, she hopes there still is a door for her.

"My...parents ..."

Nodding with a thin smile on her lips, she caressed her protruding cheek. She turned around to see her brother poking at his phone furiously, then stepping out to once again try and reach their parents.

"They're on their way." she lied. She couldn't reach them. She tried contacting them. She really did. She hopes Archer could reach them before it's too late, before they regret their decision of not showing up. Because she will be damned if she doesn't give them a piece of her mind.

She didn't want Addison to waste her last hours thinking about a lost cause, blaming herself for why the people who had given birth to her couldn't be here, at her death bed.

"You're an inspiration, Dr. Montgomery-Shepherd...I wish we could've gotten to know each other longer...together we'd make these fools way way miserable." she laughed but it sounded more like a cry for help. _A whimper._

"We're...a force...to be...reckoned...with."

"That's right."

She closed her eyes, smiling a thin weak smile for the woman whom she have come to like very much, whom she have delightfully considered a friend, whom have liked her even before this mess happened.

"Thank...you..." she breathed in deep agonising breaths. Her dry and cracked lips telling them she was in pain.

No one, not a single soul, did not not shed a tear. They all cried. They were not ashamed of the tears they weep. It wasn't a sign of weakness but the love they have for their attending. The Satan whom have made their lives miserable but they know it was all for the better, for them to grow into successful doctors.

"...Stop...crying ..." her voice sounded so coarse, so pitiful that they didn't want her to talk but at the same time, they needed to hear her voice one last time.

"Der..."

He looked at Meredith who was crying silently next to him then at his empty and broken wife, there was no time to cry. But it was all he could do.

It was all anyone could do.

"Hi." he said through tears and he reached out to intertwine her frail and cold fingers with his, placing kisses on the thin skin that covered her knuckles.

The disease had taken so much of her. Her memories, her love, her smile and laugh. It had taken her hair, bones, blood and happiness. She had refused to kiss him. Half of the time because she was ashamed, the other because it was agonising. _It hurts, Der_. It hurt her chapped and split lips so much to even part for a breath of air.

The only evident sounds were her loud laboured intakes of breath patterned with a pause. His heart broke at hearing the sounds of death but he knows she wasn't even aware of it.

"H-hi..."

It was as if time hadn't flown by, it was just like the first day he laid eyes on her at their campus library, he knew then that he was in love with her. He just fell even more madly and deeply in love with her by the day. The dimples by her cheeks, the crinkle by her eyes as she smiled her heartwarming smile. With the patches of scab and irritation on her scalp and her greying skin that left nothing but bones, she still looked ever so beautiful.

She looks the same to him.

He saw regret and apology in her eyes.

She's sorry. And he knows that.

She's sorry for not keeping her promise of growing old together.

She's sorry for not baring children.

She's sorry for not fulfilling his dream for a family.

She's sorry for not being a good wife.

She's sorry for having to make him go through this.

But most of all he knows she is sorry for her infidelity.

He's sorry too.

"Enough." he had told her when he grew tired of her apologies. He knows she's genuinely sorry. He knows. He knows. "I've already forgiven you a long time ago, Addie. It's ok. It's past us now. We're ok."

 _They are okay._

"I don't know how I'm supposed to live without you, Addie ..."

He cannot imagine a life without her. He cannot even remember what his life was before he had met her.

When she was at the hospital and her immune system was too compromised to have any visitors, Derek would hold her pillow against his nose, breathing in the vanilla he had come to memorise. And he cried every night.

 _He was so terrified._

He looked into her ocean blue eyes. _Hollow_. They were so tired but still so full of life.

"Don't...don't say that ..." she coughed. Thankfully, with the morphine, she wasn't feeling as much pain as she was supposed to.

She have been wasting away for the last six months. That is what stage four cancer would do to a person. It was already too late when they first found out but the doctors seemed optimal but with a slight skepticism.

Over a year and a half of brutality aggressive chemotherapy until Dr. Goldberg said there was no point in going for another, a third round. The cells had already metastasised, rendering her hopeless. That news alone broke her. The calm and optimistic composure was gone, Derek knew then that she was no longer his Addison.

She was never the same again.

"I don't want you to be miserable for the rest of your life, Der. I want you to move on. I expect you to move on." she felt her throat tighten and could not stop the tears that began to fall down her face, "I love you...more than you know it...I want you happy...So be good to Meredith...I like her...Be the best husband...Don't be absent ..."

 _Not like he was with her._

All she ever wanted was for Derek to be happy. She wants him to live his life to the utmost fullest. She do not want to see him merely wait out the rest of his life. She do not expect him to.

He looked at her with so much hurt, tears falling in torrents. "I don't know if..." he kissed the top of her head, rubbing her cheek. "I don't...Addison, I'll follow you..."

She was the first person whom he have truly loved.

"No..." she looked furious at his implication. She did not want him to take his life for her. She did not want such sacrifice. She wanted his happiness at all cost. "Can't be selfish...You still love her, I know you do." she coughed. "She'd..be devastated..."

He grasped her dying hand even tighter and brought them to his lips, "What about me?" his voice sounded so small, so afraid, so unlike him.

A world without Addison was like a world without beauty, love and vibrancy.

 _At least to him, it wasn't._

She tried to squeeze his hand reassuringly, "You will move on. It'll take time and I know it'll hurt but I need you to move on..." she swallowed hard, it was evident that it took everything in her to talk. "I can't die knowing that you're going to spend the rest of your life grieving."

It was true. Addison did not want to see Derek a widower for the remainder of his life; devoid of love and happiness.

"I promise you, Red, I'll be here for Derek. Always and forever. Remember-" Mark tried to muster up a weak smile as he took in the sight of her.

Addison had always been slender but now she looked to be reduced to nothing. _A puff in the air and she'll disappear._ That's a terrible metaphor. Considering the circumstance. Her veins ran prominently through her wrist and the crowning glory of her once red hair was lank.

She looked up at everyone with an appreciative smile. She's not alone. By their red, tear stained and puffy eyes, she knew they all have been crying. It was good to know that after her passing, they will be looking out for Derek. "Thank you."

All Derek could do in return was wrap his arms around her frail shoulders and pull her closer. She just smiled softly and laid her head on his heart. Their fingers; together and he cannot help but notice how blue her nails have become.

 _It won't be long now._

He took a deep breath that sounded more like a sob, "You're the bravest person I know. I love you." he kissed her temple one last time. A kiss that was to be their last.

"I love you so much more."

Derek's a neurosurgeon. It is his job to analyse every detail of every situation, to come up with answers and solutions. But this time, he didn't have any. There are no solutions to cancer.

She had fought all her life, proving her worth to everyone, to her parents, and even him when he was neglectful, she's a hero in every sense of that word. But that same woman was beaten down by a six letter word.

 _Cancer_.

She has cancer.

One cannot ever fight cancer, cancer fights you.

And cancer had fought her.

Addison passed a couple of hours later at exactly 9:13pm. She passed in loving arms. And it was more than she could ever ask for.

As Derek watched his wife blink out her existence like an unplugged Christmas tree, as he watched Addison's hollow and empty eyes snap open one last time to reveal her dead and dull blue irises, he prayed that this was all a dream.

 _But it wasn't._

"Please come back." he cried, rocking Addison in his arms as he desperately pleaded for his dead wife to come back to him.

Hospital staff shook their heads at a distance, having seen it all before, having seen so many desperate lovers scream at the world to give back what had been unrightfully taken away.

Tears fell onto her pale and sunken face, a few droplets giving life to small spots on her dry lips. He wanted to kiss her so so badly but he knew she wouldn't want the memory of their last kiss to be something so desperate and sad.

So he stood, laying her back down and tucking her comfortably into the hospital bed, making sure she looked at peace. And for the first time in years, she did.

She's in _peace_.

He kissed the top of her head before standing and silently leaving the hospital room, his heavy footsteps echoing in the silent hallways. Mark and Meredith calling after him.

 _He's ready no_ _w._

* * *

 **Hey guys! Thanks for reading! Did you guys tear up? Because I did.**

 **Love Addek angst as much as I do? Let me know what you think!**

 **And if you have any one shot ideas, please let me know.**

 **Oh and please check out my other Addek story, it's called** _Karma._

 **Long live Addek! Haha!**


	2. Chapter 2 - Princess and the Pauper

**_Medieval/Olden times Addek. . . ._**

* * *

 **Princess and the Pauper**

* * *

Once upon a time in a land far far away, an auction was in place at the city hall. The wealthy were to auction their desired peasant. A low class for them to keep.

"Father, it boggles me as to why we must need another thrall. Don't we have enough already?" I sigh, looking out the window of our carriage. Allowing the cool summer breeze to bounce at my hair.

It is a jumpy ride as the horses carry us along the dirt road to a nearby city, where we are to pawn our desired slave.

"I have already told you, dearest Addison. The more thrall, the more work gets done. I have waited a whole year for Marcel to come back to Mide."

Who is this Marcel fellow, you might ask.

 _Well, he is my father's well-liked slave ... hmmm ... mediator? dealer? frontman?_

Perhaps, wholesaler ought to be the right word.

 _Marcel is my father's well-liked slave wholesaler._

He owns a vast selection of the most valued thralls in the entire Kingdom.

 _Oh goodness, that sounded awful!_

Or so he claims he does.

He claims that his men are the strongest, his women are the fairest and his children - _yes, there are child slaves_ \- are the most obedient.

I am not too fond of this man and you must already know why. He is a deeply feared man but I outrank him - I am the Princess after all - so he does not frighten me. He is a swiping Roman since he sells cute little children.

 _How can he be so cruel? Why on earth would children need to be slaves? What can they do that an ealdor cannot?_

If I could, I would have not agreed to run along to this trip. But since the thrall auction is a family affair as Mother says, I had no choice but.

I rolled my eyes and turned to my brother.

"Who knows, Addie," he shrugged, "Maybe you will find a slave that can help you clean your room."

I shoot a glare at him, my arms folded tightly around my chest. "I will have you know my room is in pristine condition. I most certainly do not wish a personal servant, Archer. Unlike you, I am perfectly capable of doing things myself, rather than forcing some poor person that was stolen from their families and sold away in cities like cows just so they could clean my room." I spat and my brother scowl at me.

"Shut it, Addison."

"No. It is the truth. Why is it -"

"Stop bickering the two of you." Mother scolded, "Your brother is correct. You are royalty. You are expected to act like one." she gazed down at me and raised a brow. She turned away quickly as if saying I ought to know better.

 _Which, I suppose, I ought to._

When the carriage rolls to a stop, I am first to exit.

 _Ugh, my parents can be so dubious at times._

I gaze out through the crowd of people - ordinary people - and watch as our guards push them aside.

When I become Duchess or Queen, my people shall be much gentle. And the word slave shall not exist in my castle.

As I smooth out my lavender silk gown, making sure I am as prim and proper, I hear Mother murmuring beside me. "Best behaviour, Addison."

"Yes, Mother." I smiled delightfully with shine and to my mother's dismay I turned to the side and greeted the crowd that had gathered to see us.

Mother scowled at me as I waved and smiled. She did say I ought to be on my best behaviour.

"Get off your high horse, Addison." Archer rolled his eyes, "You are always snooty when we go to the city."

"Only when Father is purchasing unnecessarily." I huffed.

"Addie, many of them do not know another life." he tried to convince me and I shake my head, adamant. He might as well be convincing the air because I am never to be convinced.

"Oh, yes, they do, Archer. Camilla did." I think of my childhood nanny who have been taking care of me since the day I was born. Sadly, she passed a few years ago. I loved her as if she were my mother.

She would tell stories of her childhood, before she and her family were captured and sold to slavery. Though she would pretend that it no longer fazed her, I could see the hurt in her sweet eyes when she mentioned her old life.

"You make it worthwhile, darling." she had said to me the day she departed her post as my nanny because I had turned twelve and was considered a young lady. And young ladies do not need nannies. But I needed her, she oozes kindness, unlike my mother, and she makes living in the palace with my cold - very glacial - mother _... hmm, what's that word ..._ livable.

 _Yes, livable._

"I am ever so grateful to be your nanny." And I cried when she left ... in my room of course. Not a soul saw the tears I shed. Mother will be damned if anyone did.

I treated her right, with the respect she deserves. I brought her my food. I allowed her to use my bathroom instead of the ones at the peasant quarters and I even gave her blankets when the weather would drop to below freezing.

I had even tried to sneak into the village so I could give her medicine when she had become so ill. But the medicine itself was not enough because she died of the flu two years ago.

I refused any servant Father bring past me since.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Addison, she was ancient. She was older than our parents." Archer argued, "I bet she was one of the first slaves."

"She was family to me!" I spat, pointing harshly at his chest, "She was sweet, kind, and ever so loving! Unlike -"

"Both of you!" Mother snapped, "Stop! Don't make me repeat myself, Addison, behave. Our reputation is in its brim with your foolishness."

* * *

Chained to a post of the wooden platform at the auction shack is I, ready to be taken to my new owner. We - men, women and children - all caged like worthless animals. These conditions are in noway suitable for man.

My body jerks violently with the furious crack of a whip. Despite the flesh on my back being torn to shreds I do not beg for mercy nor do I cry out. The small crowd whispers to each other; watching the beating like a form of amusement as a man drags me out of my stall.

"Good day, Your Highness, Princess." I hear the chief auctioneer said to whom I can only assume are royalty.

"Greetings. 2000 groats to what we owe."

 _2000 groats! That's quite the penny for a peasant._

I am wondering whom could worth that awful lot of money.

I watch as a well-dressed man with a crown handed the portly man a handful of money. Money that I can never touch with my callous hands.

Eventually the royalty hurries out the awful smelling of a shack but I stand in my place. Glued to the dirt ground. No one has yet to instruct me follow behind.

"Well now, scurry along." said the royal advisor as he turns around, gesturing me to quicken my pace.

Eventually I am standing by the carriage with two women, one dressed in silk and the other in rags. With my black and muddy hair across my eyes, I can only see slightly. I am guessing the one in rags is a personal servant. Much like I. I stand before them with my cheap, ripped, woollen pants, bare feet and bare chest as the lady in silk examined me. I can only assume that she is the Duchess.

"What is this?" she grabs me by my arm, turns me around so my back faces her. I know what they are gawking at. My scars from years ago. It is frowned upon to purchase a slave with scars since it is proof that they have misbehaved.

I pray in my heart that they will not return me. Though it pains me to admit, I would very much rather be at their service than be back in that horrible shack.

 _Perhaps I still have a chance to run ... No, I must not ... they will have me sentenced to a thousand slashes._

The Duke sighed, "Oh well, we've paid for his price. Scars or no scars, he will do." he pushed me into the carriage.

I am taken aback by his hoarse voice. It is none I have come across, sounding like he had just swallowed a mouthful of gravel. I stared at the ground, not wanting to be of any trouble.

We began rolling away against the uneven dirt road, the royal advisor and the general sat by my side. I still am in shackles.

"Goodness, he smells awfully ferocious." A man, much like I in age, stated, pinching his stuck-up nose.

"We will clean him up when we get to the palace, Archer." the lady in silk cleared her throat, "In the mean time ... "

"Honoured to work for the royal family, I hope?"

I do not respond. My fists tightened around my restraints. I most certainly am not. I may be of low status but I do not enjoy being treated poorly.

 _Why is it that the wealthy must be so cruel?_

"You will answer your King." he snapped. "Or you will be punished."

"You are not my King. And I am most definitely not honoured to work for you." I spat.

"Very well then. A punishment is in order." he growled.

I turn to face the window and that was when I saw the most beautiful girl in the entire Kingdom, sitting right across from me. _How can I not have noticed her?_ She must be the Princess. She was arguing with her father on my behalf but I didn't care to listen. I was lost.

 _Emerald blue._

Emerald blue are the colour of her eyes. If they say the eyes are the window to the soul, then I must believe she has the most kindness soul there is.

She smiled at me but I was too mousy to even look in her direction. Her creamy complexion and fiery bright hair flowed like clouds. She is a true angel. I absolutely must not look into such beauty.

I do not deserve the privilege to be at her presence.

But I can feel her eyes on me. Burning my theow skin. She is studying me but I still do not dare to eye the Princess. I fear I might fall deeply.

"Well, if you do not mind ... could you tell us your name?"

"My darling!" her father growled, "His name is of no importance. He is our thrall, we shall call him by who he is."

"Father, he may be thrall but he too is man." she muttered. "Just as you, mother and I."

 _Dear god! Why is she troubling herself to defend a helpless soul?_

"We shall not have this discussion with the ... " the Duchess trailed off, looking at me as she does.

The Princess crosses her arms against her chest, her lavender silk gown with gold accents complements her very well.

"I am Addison, Princess of Mide."

I finally muster the courage to look into her eyes. Our eyes met and my heart exploded with burning desire and I gave her the slightest of smiles.

"Derek ... My name is Derek."

* * *

As I gaze out at the dark sky, I am certain it is time now.

Sneaking out to the garden and having to hold her and touch her is what I have longed for all day. I smooth out my black curls with my callous fingers for I shall at the very least look presentable for my princess. I skipped out of the servants' quarters in glee. I cannot release myself from the reverie of the princess. Her beauty is forever painted in my mind.

 _Princess Addison of Mide._

The last four months working for the royal family have been bittersweet. I still am not the least bit pleased to be at their service but _what on earth am I to do?_

They paid for my price and hence, I shall not disobey for I am only a poor slave.

Admittedly, the palace is not too awful of a place. I am quite fond of it as I get to see Addison on most days when she is not busy in the palace and almost every night, I can look into her emerald blue jewels.

She and I have been courting in secret for months. She loves me, she said, and I too am smitten with the princess, so deeply. _So so_ _deeply_. But I am in fear for us for we can never be. A poor thrall and a rich princess can never be.

She will be Queen one day for she already is engaged to Prince Mark of Austria, he is first in-line to be King of Austria.

She will live in a palace of her own and with kids that will not be mine.

I am devastated. My heart is in shreds. Tonight, can only be our last night together as she will be leaving for Austria tomorrow. She will meet her prince. She will fall deeply for him. She will forget me.

I am not certain how my life will play out. But I am certain for two things; I won't have a happy ending. And ... _I love Addison_.

Indeed, she is the reason for my living, for the breath I take, for the beating of my heart. It beats wildly for her. Without her, I am no man. Just a worthless slave.

I smiled at the revelation, she is already here, waiting for me in a white nightgown.

"Addison." I whisper, running over to her.

"Oh, Derek."

Laughing in pure joy, I see her eyes light up at my presence.

I hug her tightly, picking her up and spinning her around before planting a kiss to her cheek.

"I have missed you." I say sincerely.

She blushes.

I place my callous hands on her slim waist, and she gasps when I claim the warmth of her thin lips.

We fit perfectly, remarkably. She is as tall as I am.

"I have never realised how ginormous you are until now." I chuckle.

Her face scrunches, I see that she is hurt by my remark and she slaps my broad chest.

"Well, I have you know it is not my fault. It is rather a Montgomery flaw." she scowls.

"I'm only teasing, love. You're perfect." I whisper into her ear and I capture her lips again, relishing in stroking the small of her back to the nape of her neck.

 _Oh, how strongly I have craved her all day!_

Her lips are soft on mine and I must say I now am a content man. I have everything a man needs.

The audible little breaths that escapes her excites me when I kiss a trail down her neck and nuzzle her ear.

"What is your name?" she gasps and opened her eyes. I can see her emerald blues are much darker now.

 _My kisses must have been too much for her!_

I laugh as the question was certainly quite silly. "You know my name, love."

"Your full name."

"Oh! Derek Christopher Shepherd." I smile.

 _Why the interest in my name?_

"Derek Christopher Shepherd." she states in a whisper. "What a lovely last name ... Shepherd ..."

"Yes, it is English. But I have not been called Shepherd in many many years. What is yours?"

"Addison Adrianne Forbes Montgomery."

"A beautiful name for a beautiful princess." I say and gently lay her on her back, her fiery hair sprawled on the grass. Her thin fingers wrapped in mine as I lay next to her.

"I would not mind being a Shepherd. Addison Adrianne Forbes Montgomery Shepherd. I love it!"

"It sure does have a nice ring to it."

If I could, I would make her my wife today. I would make her the happiest girl in the entire kingdom. It hurts me terribly to know that I can never really call her mine. She may be mine in secret but she is leaving tomorrow to meet the man who will become her husband.

I know she will never be mine but I will love her and will never stop loving her till the day I die.

"I love you so much. I want the Kingdom to know."

I turn to her, the sound of her voice shaking. "So, do I."

"But that cannot be ... not ever."

"I know ... but I promise that all will be okay."

She holds me tighter and cries onto my chest while I hold back my tears.

 _Why can't life be simpler?_

A life where the rich and the poor can coexist.

"Addie, my love ..." I whisper, "What is to happen if your family finds out?"

I am most curious for I have never heard stories of royalty falling deeply for the poor. Perhaps that's because ...

"It is ... a death sentence for you, Derek. And I will most definitely be thrown in the dungeon ..." she croaks and we fall silent.

"You have to know how much I love you, Princess. I love you so deeply."

"I know. All I dream for is to spend the rest of my life with you. I love you, Derek."

She grabbed him and they're tumbling across the greens, tangled limbs and breathless cries. His hands are in her thick hair and she kissed him, hungrily, desire coursing through her. She have never felt this way. _Passion!_

My hands are on her swell, grabbing hard and the little breath that escaped her is no longer little. It is loud and I want to hear it again. I nibble at her satin-like skin and gasped in lust when her palms are on my woollen pants.

"Princess ... I do not think we should ... " I say, a little breathless.

It is frowned upon for an woman to engage in premarital sex. The entire Kingdom will banish her, call her untruthful names. They will cut off her gorgeous hair. She will be marked.

Besides she is marrying Prince Mark. He should be her first.

"I want you, Derek. Mark should not be my first." she says, peeling her nightgown off her shoulders.

"Princess ..." but I have not got any control of myself because now I am breathing the scent of her hair, pushing and rocking a comforting rhythm. She moaned, arching to meet me, needing me to be hers and only hers and I am. _I am only hers!_ Pulling her deeper, I feel her clench and tremble underneath until we are both gasping for breath.

"Runaway with me."

* * *

I see the princess hop off her white horse. She ran pass the crowd that had gathered around to watch my execution. Her hair neatly braided, her sky blue silk dress; crisp and glistening. Even as she sprints in the scorching heat, even in the darkest of days, she still looks so elegant. Every move, every step, every strand of hair, perfect and poised.

"STOP! FATHER PLEASE!" I hear her beg.

I scream out a terrible shriek as the whip lashes against my bloody skin. There wasn't much I could do but endure the terrible pain for it will not be long before I take my last breath.

I have been sentenced to death. Last night to our unknowing, someone have seen us in the garden and have mistaken it as I, forcing myself upon the princess.

I am now deemed a lowlife criminal but I am not. I would never hurt a woman let alone my love. I am just a poor boy, barely even 20. I do not want to die for a crime I did not commit. _But who would listen to a slave?_

I see the guards grabbing my princess, stopping her from going any further. I squirm against my restrains. My wrists are bound together. So are my feet. My neck is tied to a rope, attached to the ceiling of the wooden post. Once the floor beneath my feet collapses so will I. Snapping my neck instantly.

 _Death._

As the executioner walk up a few steps to the post, the crowd cheer on even louder. Excited to witness a bloody murder.

"STOP! STOP! FATHER! NO! FATHER! I ... I LOVE HIM!"

Almost instantly, an audible gasp is heard. The crowd's eyes were as huge as the sun. They looked at each other for confirmation. I am shocked beyond belief to hear those words for now she too is dead.

 _You should not have come, my love._

"Father, I lo-"

That was when I heard the loudest thunder. A slap echoed through the whole kingdom.

Her own father had slapped her on the face and she fell limp to the dirt ground. She had just disgraced the family name for me.

Every bone in me wants to protect her but I ...

* * *

 _ **Fluffiness for the torment you all had to go through with the previous chapter. My apologies. Haha! Is this even fluffy? I hope you guys enjoyed teen Addek in the olden times. Please let me know your thoughts. Also, if you haven't already, please check out my other Addek story, it's called** Karma_


	3. Chapter 3 - Negative

**_A week, a few months, or two or three or even a year before Addek's tragic_ _undoing. . . ._**

* * *

 **Negative**

* * *

"I took a pregnancy test yesterday." she blurted out, just like that, as he reached for the coffee pot at the staff lounge.

Admittedly, she knows she probably should have expressed it more...delicately, less...harsh, less...whatever that was. Except she has been trying this new approach, something softer, with him, with them _\- well, whatever they are considered now_ _since they're anything but a married couple, perhaps two strangers_ \- and that demise was getting her absolutely fucking nowhere.

He would know this if he had been home lately. _Yesterday_. He would know how terrified she have been for the past few days, how she have tried to chuck it off as stress. _Yesterday_. He would know this if he had been in the bathroom with her, waiting anxiously for the ringing of her timer to let them know of their fate. _Yesterday_. It all happened yesterday.

Their future rested entirely on an innocent stick. Truthfully, it's anything but.

She drove to the pharmacy before going home to their sullen brownstone and picked up a test. _Clearblue_. Feeling everyone's judging and laughing gaze on her the second she stepped into the store. _They know_. They all know there's a secret inside her. _They know._

Their future could go either way; on a straight path, in the direction to _nowhereland_ \- it's actually the same place they're heading to as of this second - or take a sharp turn to the right. To the right track. To the right way. To where they're supposed to go.

But she _was_ nervous. _Was_. Now, she's just...she don't know.

He snapped his head up, eyes wide and rimmed with red. _Tiredness, most likely_. It's surgery after surgery and hours of going through patient reports and scans since yesterday morning, since he's got nowhere else better to be. _That, and hope_. So much hope that Addison can see the slightest straightening of his spine and shoulder blades. Hope, she can read were shinning in his eyes. She knows she probably shouldn't look to see them a moment later, but she needed to feel pain, tremendous pain, because right now, she's numb.

"It was negative." she shrugged. Her voice was so blunt. _Dry_.

 _Blunt, dry and hoarse._

Pinning her blues with his, she watched, very quickly, as he blinked back to dullness. The redness in his eyes growing brighter.

There were a couple of doctors lounging alongside them, scattered out in all corners, but none were in earshot to hear her confession and he's more than glad about that because hospital gossip spreads like wildfire and this hospital is just like high school, chatty and one that thrives in talk, and it's gossip they definitely do not need right now.

He doesn't know what to say. If he should even say anything at all. _Well, he should, he's her husband._ And he's also an idiot, making a fool out of himself by that gaping fish expression he's giving her right now.

She can tell by the way he opened his mouth, then closed it again, then sighed, leaning back against the counter like it's the only thing left in this world that can keep him from collapsing, that he was anything but ready to hear that from her. He can't bring himself to lean on her, she thinks, but a formica countertop will suffice, it seems that way.

Maybe next time she ought to be gentler.

 _Does he really think that she - Addison - is mother material?_

"I...Addie...I don't know what to say." his voice was coarse. _Choked_. Like he's using the last of what little energy he has to grit out the words.

"Me neither." she chuckled nervously. She has no idea why she's laughing. This is no laughing matter. "Just...thought you should know, I guess."

She left the lounge and continued on with her day. Derek didn't follow after her and they didn't even look at each other as they crossed paths at the fourth floor later that afternoon.

He knows that was her. Those were her Manolo Blahnik point-toe black pumps. Ones that she dragged him to Saks just so she could irritate the sales ladies there by trying out about two dozen of the somewhat identical looking shoes before settling with the exact same pair she already had.

 _Who else in this hospital wears four inches heels?_

She knows that was him. Those were his jet black curls that he spent just as much time as she did, if not way _way_ more, every morning in perfecting the art of perfect hair. Though he'll never attest to that, she's living proof and she's a witnessed to his ridiculous rituals of combing and brushing and gelling.

 _Who else in this hospital has a gorgeous head of hair?_

They didn't talk about it for the rest of the day.

"I don't want to tiptoe around you at work." he was the one who broke their mutually agreed silence as he caught up to her at the nurses' station that evening.

She just looked at him, then back down at her chart before closing the folder and handing it to the station nurse.

He had said it like he meant it. Addison wasn't sure whether it was the truth or perhaps, it was just a wish that was harder to maintain than he had anticipated.

Everything, it seemed, is so much harder than they had anticipated.

"Ok." she said and ran away when she was paged back to the same room she was in just ten minutes ago.

Her patient - not the mother but the incredibly premature baby - didn't make it.

They went home - or rather, she went home and he went to a bar or Mark's or...somewhere that wasn't home - and Addison cried. She's crying because she finally can, because there's no one around to witness the beastly looking creature that emerges whenever she bawls her eyes out.

 _It's an ugly mess, really._

Her husband still isn't here.

She's terribly sad, she thinks it's pretty obvious that she is, and he's not here to comfort her.

The cries flowed in stages. It's sad at first - the kind of tears you would cry because there's nobody to talk to about how completely broken you're feeling. And then, they change without any warning. They grow hot and mad, angry tears - the ones you cry out of frustration and injustice. For being alone in a time of need and comfort. And lastly, she quietened - nothing else left inside her. Nothing to give. Nothing to grieve. Nothing to rage about.

 _Just acceptance._

She'd be a lousy mother anyway. She'll be a carbon copy of her own mother. _Cold and manipulative._

And so she showered, pulled on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt that smells like her and not like Derek, because that's enough for tonight. Enough pity. Enough sadness. Enough wallowing.

There was a jiggle at the door. A pull and release. A gush of wind before the door's shutting echoed. A soft thud of his shoes being set down in the shoe rack sounded.

 _Derek's finally home._

Now that he's here, she feels nothing. She wanted him home but now, he's three hours too late.

"Addie." he called out as he walked into the living room. Then, frowned at the drink in her hand. She knows what he's going to say but she glared at him just in time for him to reevaluate his concerns.

There's strong scientific evidence that alcohol, even in moderation, can make it more difficult to conceive. She knows that, that's her specialty and she doesn't need Derek - the godsend - schooling her in something she spent more than a third of her life studying.

Sucking in a breath, Addison closed her eyes and took a long sip. Maybe this was just her imagination toying with her. _Derek's never home._ But the pain sitting in her chest like lead is too heavy to be ignored, to be just a dream - _more like a nightmare_. So, she willed her eyes open. He's on the couch, right beside her.

"Did you want it to be positive?" His words were stilted. Angular and staccato.

"I don't know."

Derek sighed, like it's the only thing he's capable of doing. "Did you want it to be negative?"

"No." she said quickly. There wasn't even a pause. Not a second or even the tiniest millisecond. No thinking. Just blurting.

There wasn't a _'no, I didn't want it to be negative'_ , _'no, I don't want it to be negative'._

He stared at her. His hands were cold and he bet hers were too. _They're always cold_. They only ever talked about having kids once and that was a very long time ago. When they first got married. When they were young and in their twenties. _Careers then we can think about having children._ But lately, they were just so busy with work and being the best of the best, being the doctors hospitals can only dream of accommodating - those were their goals - that kids never popped into their conversations, or lack there of.

And now, they're in their thirties and they do not have much time.

She's now overwhelmed by his smell, his breathing, his trembling fingers inching towards her, pulling back at the last second like they've been burned.

"I've thought about it...for quite a while now actually." he choked. He had never told her this part of his goal. She knows he've always wanted kids and they both agreed on that. And that was that. _They agreed_. They just thought they had all the time in the world. "Four. Four kids. Two boys. Two girls."

She almost spat back the burning liquor that was travelling down her throat.

 _Four children!_

She'd bare as many kids as she could, if she could. But it's time that's not on her side.

She doesn't know why he's telling her this, why he's making this whole situation worse by painting a picture of what they don't have, of what they will never have - _well, she suspects, she's thirty-five._ She wants him to stop talking. And yet, she's not screaming at him to stop either, because she's passive aggressive.

 _A masochist, isn't she?_

Seeking out the pain, letting it singe then burn then scar.

"I thought about you taking it light with work. Complaining. Not really meaning it. Pretending not to be excited over Savvy throwing you a baby shower."

"Why are you telling me this?" she whispered, tears fogging her vision and just when she thought she was done with vulnerability.

"Just wanted you to know it wasn't a feeling of relief...if that's what you're thinking." he said, swiping tears that had managed to tumble down her cheeks with the back of his fingers. "When you said it was negative. I wasn't relieved."

A wave of something passed over her then. Nausea maybe. Heartbreak, probably.

"Maybe someday." she just about manages, not waiting for the _'oh definitely'_ because that would have been the response once upon a time when her fertility clock wasn't ticking like a ticking time bomb, because nothing is certain, just a series of _maybes_ and _possiblies_ and _mights and_ _coulds_ and _never wills._

"I want it." he said quietly. "I really do."

And yet, they both know that _want_ doesn't equate to _having_.

"I want it too." she let herself say.

They sit for a while. Longer than a while actually. Minutes or hours until her vision became blurry. And not just from the tears because she's also fighting the urge to close her eyes. If she does let herself succumb, Addison knows he won't be here when she wakes up.

"Derek, can you please…" she trailed off, backing out when Derek lets his eyes meet hers and she sees his own tears too. He adjusted his body, twisting and she's most certain that he's going to leave - _she doesn't know what's making her think that_ \- the desperation for him not to go, knocked all of the wind out of her lungs as she clung onto his arm. _Begging_.

But then his arms enveloped her, sealing her body against his so she can hear the heavy thump of his heartbeat and feel his carefully measured breaths against her hair. The gentle shake of his arms signalled to her that he's given in to the grief and she lets her fingertips stroke the back of his neck steadily, calmly, loosening the muscles beneath his skin so he becomes heavy against her shoulder. But she prefers it that way, the weight of his body pressing against her so he's everywhere. So she can feel him. So she knows he's still here.

* * *

 ** _Thanks so much for reading guys! What do you think? I'd love to know! Please review!_**


	4. Chapter 4 - Every Moment Matters

_**Post 2x17 - As We Know It \- In which we all hoped the "she" he was asking for was Addison. . . . **_

* * *

**Every Moment Matters**

* * *

 _Where is she?_

They don't go to Joe's after the day is done, after the catastrophic day they've just had. Derek just shakes his head at the offer and Addison doesn't know whether it's because of her or if he just doesn't want to go, but all the same, she's grateful that they'll go _home_ together, that they'll enter the _trailer_ together. She's just thankful that she's even going home to the trailer with a fully intact Derek - because _what if_. Even if it's the trailer. She actually doesn't dread walking into the tin can anymore. And now, she's waiting for Derek outside of the hospital since he had forgotten something in his office, blowing into her hands to keep them warm because it's a February Seattle and the drizzling evening sky is ice on her pale skin.

 _Every moment matters_ , she realises.

There was a bomb in a man's chest and he was on the brink of death. _Senseless_. Meredith had her hands, elbows deep, in that man's chest and she was on the brink of death. _Courageous_. And death's doors opened for the persons who had saved the entire hospital and they vaporised into pink mist. _Tragic_. Just specks of blood are what's left.

Every so often, they'll get a cases like _this_ , not the bomb part, that's never happened before, but cases that dredges up old feelings of hurt and regret and silent screams of _what ifs_ , out of the blue and in test, rocking their little family just in case they've all gotten a little too settled and attached to something they are all taught not to. A little reminder that life, all in all, is altogether uncertain, that _every moment_ _matters_ , that there's no point dwelling in checkered past because absolution and mercy is the only way out.

Because counterplay only ends in defeat.

"Where is she?" he frantically asks in a school of doctors and nurses surrounding the first floor, peering through white lab coats and scrubs to look for that particular red shine.

"Derek!"

It's her voice and he sees her in a panic, pushing through shoulders after shoulders to get to him. A loud grumble echoes from above, then. Audible gasps, glass shattering, metal clanking, he hears, frozen in place.

The silence is weighing down on them, oppressive and choking until Derek crosses that short space between them, and wraps his arms so tightly around her that tears sting her eyes because she just feels so safe like this, with him surrounding her like a net - ready to catch her when she falls. And she's falling, now.

"Let's go home." he whispers against her hair and she nods just once and lets him lead her by the arm to the locker room where she watches him grab his stuff - and then hers - before they at least try and shut thoughts off.

During the car ride - he's the one behind the wheel tonight with no jokes being made and no questions being asked - making the right turns and stopping at intersections, Addison notices a little mark just below his ear. It's older, dull and ingrained.

When the constant hurricane of emotions regarding the _what if_ Derek hadn't manage to get out of that OR in time, she probably wouldn't even have a body to bury, finally settles into the compartments in her mind, she realises she doesn't know how he got it. But she'll ask - later.

 _How can she not have noticed it until now?_

She doesn't get enough of him already; she doesn't want to miss anything else.

They shed their coats as soon as he shuts the aluminium door behind them, sighing a little as the lock jams into place and they're closed off from everything and everyone else. Addison watches him pull the laces of his shoes until the knot is no more so that he can take his feet out and wiggle his toes against the cold floor like always. Once they're lined up by the wall, he tugs at the counter of her Manolo Blahnik suede pumps, lifting her right leg so he can free the foot trapped inside before repeating his actions with her other one. He might have been stomping on her heart and soul for the past few months but today, he's as gentle as she remembers.

There's a moment where they both just look at each other, where all the little creaks from the woods outside fade into to a nothingness and all Addison can hear is her heart thudding restlessly in her ears while Derek gets nothing but the incessant ache of the _what ifs_ in his thoughts. And the pain in Addison's eyes.

It's a kiss.

And then they shower.

It is a very small shower, but they managed.

Tonight, the fogged small glass window on the aluminium wall doesn't see her back pressed up against it as she grabs onto his shoulders, its leverage providing them both with all of the best angles. The aluminium wall don't receive his hand as he leans to catch his breath for a moment, eyes hazy and black with lust when she raises her leg higher up his because she wants _more_. Instead, that little cubicle that's always been too small now fits them just perfectly as Addison's soft fingertips massages the base of his scalp.

When she's done washing him and his muscles have ceased aching quite so terribly from fatigue, she gets her turn - closing her eyes against his touch as his hands and lips and nose love her everywhere. He might not say the words too often - not anymore - but he's showing her that he does right now.

 _Every moment matters._

The water cools to a tepid rain and Derek shuts off the flow, letting his lips land on hers. They just stay there. Not a movement. Not a breath. Just a promise she'll be okay. _In the end_. And she knows she will. _In the end._ Surrounding by his skin.

Their bed - because it's actually theirs now, and not just his - beckons them with pressed sheets, Derek always gets the creases out while she feathers the pillows - their little ritual - ready to envelope their bodies in sleep. They brush their teeth and he waits for her, a helping hand on the small of her back so neither of them have to make the few steps to the bed alone. It's not even that late, not really, and they haven't eaten since the French toast this morning, but they both know they'll feel better about it all once they're a tangle of limbs and a single heartbeat.

"You have a scar." Addison whispers against his chest, tracing the short line close to his ear with her finger. Even with her bony elbow prodding into his ribs, he wants her like this - draped like a cloak so her hair tickles his neck and her left leg lays between his. So she's everywhere.

 _Every moment matter._

"Fought with Kathleen when I was ten."

She smiles. She can imagine little Derek with dark curls driving his sister mad to the point that she left a scar to remember her by.

"And this one?"

She remembers, they both know it, but they also know it's an excuse for her to touch him. Not that she needs one.

It was years ago from a bar brawl when they were in medical school. It was all Mark's fault, though he'd say otherwise, because he had just dumped Dani Di Lucca - one of the many girls he was seeing simultaneously - and her brothers had came to her rescue. And being the hardhead that she was and still is, she didn't listen to Derek when he told her to back away as she tried to reason with the large boys. Because to her, words can be just as powerful. One of the brothers shoved her away, hard, incredibly so and that was when the confrontation became an actual brawl.

So who actually caused the fight is anyone's guess.

Her hands roam downwards, achingly soft in their touch as her fingertips skim the scar just above his hipbone from an appendectomy he had. She lifts her head and Derek wants it back where it was so that her cheek is against the skin covering his heart, but her lips caress the dull ache in his chest with their own brand of morphine so in the end, it's okay. It's just...nights like these requires no space between them.

 _Every moment matters._

When her thumb reaches that spot, lingering as she stares at the difference in colour of the skin there, he shifts his knees so she's pushed back up towards his face. To his mouth. They lean in together and this time, it's not a static profession. It's fluid; slow and soft and warm and all of those good things that comes with kissing the only person you've ever really really loved.

Neither of them need to make the declaration out loud. They both know.

When the inevitable sigh escapes her mouth and tumbles into his, Derek slides his hands up underneath the camisole she's wearing and she immediately knows - even without conscious thought - that his thumb is going to the mark on her back. It's one that lingers as the result of being shoved by an angry brother at the brawl - when she'd been pushed too far away for Derek to catch her - that had left her first with a splattering of bruises against her rosy skin, and now, just a single line when she landed on a shard. Almost half of the dwellers at that bar either ended up in the ER or the police station.

 _Every moment matters._

Derek's knees prop her up so that he can use what little strength he has left to tug the material up and over her head. When it's discarded somewhere on the floor, Addison shifts again because she knows what part of her skin he wants. There are moles and specks of freckles decorating her delicate skin, that he wants to lay his lips on. She offers her chest and he takes it. The resulting feeling of his hot mouth on her makes her moan.

Exploring each other like this, when it's come as the result of such a horrible day, is a kaleidoscope of emotions. The scars prove they each made it through but they also serve as a warning - _so easily, they might not have_.

Nothing about their union is hurried. _Every moment matters._ If anything, every kiss is drawn-out, every touch lingers at least a second longer than necessary and the way he removes her panties is agonisingly slow.

Derek holds her so close, even after both of them have climaxed and the air around the bed is so hot and sticky that her hair is damp against her neck. His hold promises her that she's safe; promises him too because he really really hates it when she's not in his arms - he realised that today.

 _Every moment matters._

Not a single one of the three pillows she likes to sleep with make it out from the storage space from under the bed tonight. She already can't get close enough to him; if crawling inside of his skin to take up residence was an option, she'd do it in a heartbeat. But it isn't and she can't. She has to settle for the cocoon of his arms.

Only now do they swap _I love yous_. She thinks she's going to cry because he actually sounds genuine this time. He's not mumbling something incoherent. He's not saying _'okay'_ or _'yeah'_ or _'sure'_ or _'me too'_. _"I love you, Addison."_ is his reply. Because the words can't heal their physical scars, but they can heal the ones in their hearts. Because - and Derek knows this - the only way she can sleep is if his low timbre is vibrating throughout her body.

He'd rather she hear _I love you_ than anything else tonight.

* * *

 _ **Thanks so much for reading. I hope you liked this one shot. Oh, and if you guys haven't already, please check out my Maddison FanFic, it's called**_ Salvation _ **. And also my Addek one -** Karma **. Let me know what you think!**_


	5. Chapter 5 - Great Pretender

**_Pre-show. Pre-Shepherd's failed marriage. When Addison was still a Montgomery and Derek was still her one and only. Basically fetus Addek._** ** _Vulnerable Addison since, let's be honest, that's our cup of tea (well, most of our). . . ._**

* * *

 **Great Pretender**

* * *

She feels her body scream as she leaves that bar. Pulling away from Derek when he was so overwhelming close like that - warm and safe and the only light in this invading blackness - took every last ounce of her strength and now all she's left with is just enough cognitive ability to understand that she needs to make it to her car. Beyond that, it's anyone's guess.

She wanted the drink. _Wants the drink._ But she just doesn't want to stay - not inside of that stupid bar with all it's damn cheer and optimism. _Positivity_. She's done with optimism and smiles for a while, she thinks.

Her flashy red Audi ends up in drive either by way of her hands or by magic - she doesn't exactly care which because she's just glad she's getting out of there. It's all too intoxicating. If Derek had called out for or even ran after her, which she knows has the highest probability, she wouldn't have known because she just couldn't get herself to turn around and see it for herself.

Indiscriminate shapes begin to blur past the windows, falling into stooped hunches until Addison's pretty sure they're suffocating her, judging by the heavy lead weight on her chest.

 _I'm not here to make friends. I'm here to make better surgeons._

Her lungs are chugging desperately for air. Just like how his tiny lungs must have been. She gets it now - why her mentor did this to her. Sometimes - _just sometimes_ \- she gets too overly involved and attached with her patients, she's baffled as to why. She's a Montgomery and caring for someone else entirely, let alone a complete stranger, is beyond her genes' capabilities. _But isn't caring what makes a great doctor?_ The strive. The determination. The ambition. The one hundred percent all-or-nothing. The will to save lives. They are attributes that makes her great at what she does.

She took an oath and she stands by it.

 _The health of my patients will be my number one consideration..._

And it is. It always will be. Regardless of what vicious lesson she needs to be taught.

But she had felt his translucent paper-thin-skin go cold in her hands and one can't put that kind of feeling onto someone else, not even her mighty and high mentor.

 _You have to learn distance, Dr. Montgomery. You'll be a better doctor for it._

The traffic light is red and she slows to a stop, the stillness affording her a rare moment of clarity. Said clarity being that if she were to take a number of upcoming turns, she'd soon be down by the East River and will be able to floor it enough to take her car over the side and submerging into the cold waters.

She almost takes the next right because it'd be so easy, she thinks, just to leave her foot pressing on the gas pedal, unfastening her seatbelt so she'd hit the windscreen first - hard enough, probably, to slip into that state of semi-consciousness where accepting and embracing the inevitable is the only option. And then a horn sounds, angry and brash, and she looks up to see green, stepping on the gas, only lightly, so the speedometer reads a comfortable thirty-five. Dying now would be cheating. She knows she doesn't get to cheat this.

 _Not a chance at all._

She has to suffer. She needs to suffers. She wants to suffer.

Her Tribeca apartment is silent when she enters it. Overwhelmingly so, like it's intent on making a point of not saying everything she knows in her head to be true. The lights are teasing, twinkling mischievously like it knows what she did, the walls are taunting her with their state of mute. Invisible lips pursed tightly in a defiant act of _'we won't say it, but you know, Addison, what we're thinking'_.

And what they're thinking is nothing but fact that she's a killer.

She killed that baby.

 _No, you didn't. He was going to die anyway. He had a restricted atrial septum and virtually no aorta._

Her shoes hit the paintwork hard enough to leave a mark and it's the most pleasure she's felt all day. It'll be a reminder, she figures, if she ever ceases to forget this pain, even just a fraction, even just the tiniest quarter, the mark will bring it back. _Pain_. And she'll get a chance to feel this agony again. She'll remember.

Time passes. _How much?_ She doesn't know. But at some point she's pulled the blanket, that usually hangs over the back of the couch, around herself.

There's a noise somewhere. Either, way off in the distance and she's tuned into it's frequency above everything else, or loud and close by - rising above the silence and the fog she's wading through so that it reaches her ears.

"Addie?" It's the latter, she can confirm.A knock on the door. Of course, it's the latter but she doesn't want to acknowledge it because delivering twins then, watching one of them die consumed everything she had and she's not entirely certain she can make it to the door without collapsing. She doesn't even want to try, anyway.

Vaguely, it registers somewhere in her brain that the door is opening with the set of keys he has - just like she has his - that she had presented him quite some time ago. The last thing Addison wants to do is try and talk it out which she would never prefer because that's not like her. _Not at all._ That's what Derek does. _Talk_. If not her, he'll definitely talk to Mark.

There's a rustling in the space between the door of her apartment and the living room - not a discrete enough area to be deemed a hallway, but not part of the apartment's centre either. He's removing his shoes and lining them up next to hers which is a sad fact she wishes she didn't know, but if there's one thing that will always remain a constant between them, it's his sense of order even when everything else is messy and blurred.

He sets something on the counter but Addison doesn't look up to discern exactly what has made the clank against the granite. Acknowledging him would somehow be giving in, she figures. Nothing makes sense and her thought process has proven that on a series of occasions.

The couch dips as he sinks onto its leather cushions next to her but she makes no effort to shift enough so that he can sit comfortably. At this point, she thinks her limbs might have forgotten how to move.

"It wasn't your fault." he says.

They both - _she_ knows that to be not true because Dr. Webber had put her in charge of him. He was her responsibility. But she doesn't bother to respond.

"Sometimes...it helps to talk about it."

"I'm not you, Derek." Her voice is bitter and laced with something close to venom but she can't help it.

He sighs. "Not talking about it won't get you very far, Addie."

"Well, I don't need to get that far. I just need to get past today."

Derek doesn't say anything to that but she can sense the tightening of his jaw; wishes she couldn't. She hates herself that the armour she's trying to put on is letting any kind of feeling through.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Not really."

There are echoes of the last time those words were spoken, only this time she isn't pressed up against a wall, halfway to being disrobed and a whole hell of a lot closer to being devoured by him.

 _No_. This time, she's shaking beneath a blanket of flashing images that's wrapped around her, sounds blaring into her eardrums, screaming at her and all she wants is to cover her ears, but she can't - her arms are numb, they're so heavy.

The obnoxiously loud beep of death. Her fingers pressing into the awfully small chest. The sterile air lingering in her nostrils. Shrieks as she tried to get someone to listen to her, that he can't be gone, that he needed another push of epi, that he can't die on her watch because it's her responsibility to keep him alive.

 _Dr. Montgomery! Stop! Stop it! He's gone! You need to pronounce now!_

Her mentor's voice was loud in the NICU while everyone else just stared at her.

 _11:23pm_

Shaking her head at her cruel mentor, she couldn't get herself to say those numbers and so she just walked, _ran_ , away instead.

 _I_ _work my fucking ass off doing CPR, pumping him full of drugs known to mankind! And now you're tell me it's all for nothing!_

She had promised the mother that she'd keep her babies safe, that they will be just fine. _Safe, perfect and healthy._ A lie. Well, that's also her problem, she lies and makes promises she can't keep.

There's warmth radiating off of Derek but it doesn't seep through, she's still cold. She's always cold.

"Remember that time when Dr. Foster had me in path lab for a week?...Well, we had a case in where we received both legs of some guy. Amputated above the knee because they were ischemic and gangrenous after he developed strep pneumoniae septicaemia. A few days later, we got an arm. Then, 5 fingers. Later, we got a chunk of his nose that was debrided after it was finally determined it wasn't viable anymore. Guy was previously healthy, was skiing and just got sick."

Addison wants his words to not reach her ears. _Things like this just happens sometimes._ _It's no one's fault. And it's definitely not ours. It's our job to treat the disease, Addison._ She doesn't want it - this tale of woe she knows is coming in a bid to make her feel better, or just less guilty. She doesn't deserve to. But he keeps talking. Incessant and resilient against the invisible barrier she's erected between them or maybe they've erected it between themselves and she's only building on it now and she's too weak to move away anyway. So his words continue to filter through as he speaks.

"I actually saw the guy in the hospital a couple of weeks later. No legs, one arm without fingers on it, no nose."

She shrugs and her voice is low. "You didn't cause it."

"You didn't either."

"But I did..."

 _If she hadn't fallen asleep and had actually done her job like Dr. Webber had solely instructed her to, then he wouldn't...have died?_

"No. You didn't and you know it."

"Fine." she grunts. She's tired of arguing. "You win. Congratulations." She'd applaud but she doesn't have the energy. "Want to drink?"

"To forget?"

"Not to forget." she spits, suddenly clearer. "I don't ever want to forget."

 _Don't want to forget that she's basically a murderer._

Addison isn't sure he replies but at some point, Derek sets a glass in front of her and fills it with amber liquid that he doesn't seem to open a cupboard to find. _Scotch_. His birthday present, she surmises, but thinks nothing else of it.

* * *

They drink and she doesn't forget. They drink some more and everything dulls; the lights, the heaviness of her head on her shoulders, the noise the glass makes every time she deposits it back on the coffee table for him to fill. All of it dulls, except for the images in her head and the baby in her arms and the devastating look on the mother's face when Dr. Stavros told her that one of her boys is no longer. Mrs. McAllister was her patient, it's her duty as her doctor to inform her, but she had refused to face her, couldn't get herself to break the news to her. She had lied. _Shocked_. She just watched while another doctor did her job for her.

 _She's drunk._ She's drunk but she's not drunk enough because she can still rationalise her slurred words and swaying vision into a definition. He's stopped pouring fast enough and so she reaches for the bottle when he seals his palm over her hand.

"I think we should stop."

She ignores him and tightens her hold on the bottle.

"Your head's going to hurt in the morning and-"

"-Good." Some physical pain, she figures, to match the one in her mind. "You stop if you want."

He tries a softer approach. "Don't do this Addison." When she snatches the bottle towards her, no longer impeded by his grasp, it's clear he's failed.

She pours and drinks and pours and drinks and suddenly her eyes are burning with tears but she pushes them away, furious. Derek takes her head in each of his hands, so she'll look at him, only that doesn't work either because she can always _always_ close her eyes when he looks at her like that.

"Addison." His voice is like a caress, soothing and electrifying her all at once, and she can't take it. Knows that if he continues with that tone, she'll break and she doesn't get to break.

 _Never_.

"Don't."

"Addie." he tries again, voice a whisper, and she absolutely knows with every fibre in her that he's finding it hard to swallow. Looking at her like he'll fall if she does, waiting for her eyes to open so he can search them in a bid to eradicate this overwhelming crippling guilt that's gnawing away at her insides.

She can't bare it. And then her body - so devoid of energy since leaving that bar - jumpstarts, pouncing onto him so hard and so fast that they almost topple over the armrest of the couch together.

Her lips are on his - bruising, more than kissing - and biting until she can taste something metallic on her tongue and it's blood. _Oh God, it's blood!_ Derek's blood. And she needs to stop the images from earlier from firing across her closed eyelids.

She all but rips the sweater from her body, tearing at the material until it lands somewhere on the floor. Her breaths are hot - she can already feel them - and she's gasping for air, like if she's too quiet the _flatlining beep_ will filter back through. Derek pulls back with a mix of surprise and concern etched into his face, carved along the corners of his eyes and into his forehead too.

"I'm not sure if-"

She doesn't let him finish that sentence. _No, can't_. Can't let him finish that sentence, and so she cuts him off with her lips so that the words die on his tongue or in his throat and she swallows the resulting mumble.

His shirt makes it to the floor, minus a couple of buttons, and she whips off her own bra, frees her breasts so she can press them up against his chest roughy. Their jeans get removed too - by whose hands - neither are sure. But they're off and she's climbing on top of him, sinking down so he's enveloped in her fast enough that the squeak she emits isn't entirely one of pleasure. Addison thinks she might feel her lips curve into the slightest of grins at that.

 _Finally, it's physical pain. She can feel again._

She's rough when she rides him. No pretence of romance, because this isn't that. And when it begins to feel so deliciously good, she nips at his neck, biting and pulling at the skin there, just enough to hear him hiss and reciprocate so the pleasure is contoured by waves of pain.

"Harder." she grits out against his neck as he slams into her from underneath. A new wave of pleasure hits and she forces it away and demands he bite her.

"Harder, please." She digs her nails into his arms and back and anywhere and everywhere - clawing mercilessly - she can find so he'll do the same to her.

There's this noise somewhere - much like earlier, where she can't distinguish its proximity - like a high-pitched siren or the kind of howling an animal makes. Derek stills beneath her then like he's heard it too, but she doesn't want him to stop. Wants him to go harder - hard enough to break something inside of her, she hopes, and yet he doesn't.

She urges him on with her hips and her nails, not with words, but his hands reach to hold her arms down by her sides, gripping too gently as he slides his palms down the length of her heated skin until he's at her wrists and able to sew his fingers in with hers.

"Stop, Addie." he says, breaking through that noise with wide blue eyes.

 _No! She_ thinks, tells him as such in her head.

 _No. Come on. Come on. No. Derek!_

But then he does something that stills her too, stooping his head so he can speak so close to her lips that she can actually feel the word. "Stop."

He brings their joined hands to the side of her face, never letting her go as he strokes the space where her crease when she smiles should be with his thumb. "Stop."

Only then does she realise that the howling siren is her. And said realisation is enough to overpower what happened earlier and somehow, breaking through the blackness. And not like a bright light, but like a shard of the darkest grey, just a fraction enough to not be black.

"I killed him, Derek." she chokes in a whisper. "My baby died...He just died...and I'm sorry...I'm so so sorry, Derek."

"I know." is all he says, pulling her flush against his chest, letting the tears coat his skin. "I know."

* * *

 **Hey guys! Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed! Was this plausible to actually have happened? Addison did say it took her a long time to recover.**

 **Please review! I love your reviews! Oh and if you guys are Maddison fans or just want to read something, please do check out my short story, it's called** Salvation


	6. Chapter 6 - Isn't This a Lovely Day

**_Pre-show. Pre-Shepherd's failed marriage. Fluffy. When Addison-and-Derek were still boyfriend-girlfriend. . . ._**

* * *

 **Isn't This a Lovely Day**

* * *

"One day, I'm gonna be old and gray and wrinkly." Derek announces first thing Sunday morning.

It's just Derek - needy Derek, fishing a compliment or something out of her.

She could give him what he wants and tell him he'll forever look like a dashing prince. _Well, it's true anyway._ He does resemble Prince Charming in the most enticing way. All he's missing is a crown and a white horse.

But she barely addresses his fuss and also, hardly looks up from the newspaper she's been reading over a hot cup of coffee. Pouring only a little ounce of skimmed milk into the caffeinated drink, she scans the paper's back page for read worthy articles and adjusts the strap of her lacy nude camisole, mindlessly twirling the drawstrings of _her_ light pink sweats ( _correction, Derek's_ _pink sweatpants_ ) that sat low on her hips.

It's a beautiful morning.

Her red hair cascades over her eyes and she lets out a deep breath, watching as the strands fly, then resettles back to its very position. She bites her lip and takes a small sip of coffee and in the shine of the metal table, she catches the reflection of her waiting boyfriend, who's now behind her and staring down her top.

"Old and grumpy, with arthritis and a hip problem." he insists, his breath dancing on her bare shoulders. The fine hairs at the nape of her stand up, yet she sips her coffee, taking her time in appreciating the roasted beans, listening to the soft music echoing from the stereo.

She'll just ignore him.

Ever since she'd been with Derek, she'd developed his habit of listening to the radio in the mornings, albeit, they had a difference of opinion on what ' _good'_ music was.

She almost always - just almost always win the battle on which station they should just stick with. He likes the classics and sometimes she does too, when she's in the mood that is, and that will be their compromise.

Addison taps her foot against the light beige tile that covers the kitchen floor and he swivelled her chair around to face him in one swift motion.

"Derek." she chuckles softly. Staring at him, her gaze sweeps from his bare feet to his dark blue flannel sleep pants to the strong bare chest that's lightly sprinkled with hair. She lingers a little on his chest. Reaching out to trail a finger through the hairs just below his belly button. His skin is soft and warm, the muscles of his abdomen tenses under her touch. She licks her bottom lip, and looks up into the blue eyes she adores and can never ever get enough of.

His are a deep blue, dark and light, a sea at peace in a storm. It's a colour she's spread throughout their apartment, though she'd never admit it. The colour is everywhere - it's the tiny details he'll never notice. Like the throw pillows or the shower curtain and even their cutlery. It's a reminder, the little things, though she doesn't really need one.

She just wants him everywhere.

"Should I alert the New York Times of your foreseeable future, Der?" she says, the corner of her mouth twisting up into a wry half smile.

She lets him pull her up from the chair. The mug of hot coffee just barely making the edge of the table in time, newspaper floating to the floor in a messy heap. She lets him hold her in his strong arms. Soft and solid all at once. She lets him catch her lips in a dizzying kiss. A kiss so gentle, she barely felt it. And only releasing her for a breath and he takes a gulp while she takes two deep ones and allows her eyes to refocus on his before whispering, "Morning, Derek."

"Good morning, _beautiful_." he says huskily. His eyes dance and his smile is mischievous. His hair is still ruffled from a restless sleep. And the _'beard'_ he'd grown over the summer break is one of her most favourite things right now.

But she'll never tell him that either.

"What?" she smiles a little and wonders where he's going with this. But where ever he's going, she's more than willing to follow.

She's always _always_ ready to follow his lead.

His fingers drag through her hair, pushing it out of her eyes. "Will you still love me when I'm ancient?"

His smile - that boyish smile - remains, but his eyes are soft with hint of yearn.

"Of course." she says, arching an eyebrow a little. "You're not planning on going bald early, are you?"

Now, that would be totally tragic. Derek's thick and luscious curls are to die for and it's probably his definite prized possession; his best feature. Healthy and strong - they're in better shape than hers.

"Maybe. . .Will you still love me, then?" he touches his tongue to her upper lip, licking a little coffee off of it.

"Always, but no toupees, okay?" she laughs and tickles the small of his back. She'd rather he go completely bald than have a furball glued on top of his head - artificial and crooked.

She can't even picture it in her mind.

He twists under her hands and pulls her back into his arms, the embrace tightens - a longing one, briefly too desperate.

"Der? What's wrong? Is everything okay?" she pulls back to look into his eyes, tracing her index finger along his jaw line.

"Mmmm. . .nothing Addie." he murmurs, his eyes cast down, his tongue darting out to caress her finger while it brushes his lips. "Just. . .nothing." His fingers drag along her sides, moving under the thin fabric of her camisole smoothly and she takes in a little breath, releasing a contented sigh.

"Nothing, huh?" she hooks her fingers into the waistband of his pyjama pants, pulling him closer.

She nuzzles her nose with his.

He smiles hesitantly and swallows nervously. "I heard someone was in town for a visit."

"Bizzy?"

Only because Hermès launched their newest Birkin in animal print - crocodile skin - yesterday and the Fifth Avenue boutique always have one reserved just for her.

"I was gonna say that bitch, but yeah, Bizzy."

Actually he's accurate. Very accurate.

She traces the hair below his navel, revelling in the softness and scratches her name on his stomach with a lightly digging nail. _Addie_. He laughs and she watches the white lines fade away like invisible ink. Like the ones she used to write on the walls with in her room.

He takes in a breath and splays his hands out across her chest. "I can't believe Naomi and Sam are back together." he nods, momentarily distracted by the way her skin catches the light. He brushes his thumbs over the straps of her tank, and down over her chest to feel the beat of her heart.

"Yea. Who would've seen that coming? I really thought her and the other guy were going to turn into something special. But whatever makes her happy, I guess."

"I think Sam has learned his lesson and hopefully he'll put Naomi first this time. She's a pretty good judge of character. And I trust her judgement. And Sam is our friend, he's one of _your_ good friends. . .we should be nice." she smiles fondly, catching his still wandering hand, and squeezing it in hers affectionately.

"I guess we should." Derek eyes her hopefully.

"It's like I told Naomi, love makes us do crazy things."

"That it does." He can't argue with that because it's quite true.

She reaches out an index finger to smoothes out his furrowed brows slowly. He blinks under her touch and her lips purse thoughtfully. Her words seem far far away when they finally leave her mouth. "We're not really. . .who we were anymore."

"No?"

It's not really a question.

She sighs.

Her gaze flickers around the room, settling on an old picture. The picture of her and Derek that had once been the wallpaper on her phone, now it sits in a frame on their mantle.

They're making new memories every day.

He follows her gaze uncertainly, then look back at his girlfriend and sees her a few years younger, all wide eyes and promising him things she didn't have the vaguest idea she'd actually keep.

He sees her smiling. "It seems like yesterday."

Their first date. Their first kiss. Their first everything together.

He'd written all of their firsts on his journal. He'll never attest to that, even if his life is on the line.

"Yeah." her smile brightens. "So. . .what did you guys talk about?"

His eyebrows raise. "Excuse me?"

"Remember when you, my father and my brother shocked us all and went fishing a few weeks ago?"

"I do indeed, Addie. So?"

He knows what she means, but he just needs to hear her ask, just one more time.

"What did you guys talk about? I know my dad and Archer, Derek. So, I'm just curious of what you 'men' talked about all weekend. I mean, you leave to go to New Hampshire barely speaking and you come back like you're all best of friends or something. It's a little weird, don't you think?"

"We had a fist fight, caught some fish. . .and that was it. Bonded over what a pain in the ass you are." His fingers twitch at his sides as he attempts to hide his smirk.

She rolls her eyes and lets out an exasperated groan. "Screw you." And she starts to walk away from him, but is turned around by a strong hand, yanking her roughly back into his arms.

With a muffled moan, that should probably embarrass her, she gives in to his probing tongue, and his hands fists in her hair.

He finally pulls back, breathless and rubs a hand along her jaw line tenderly. "They said I know you best." Derek whispers.

"Better than I know myself." she replies honestly.

He nodded and gave her a smile, "Which is why I needed alone time with your dad and brother, so that I could ask them something."

"What?"

He takes a deep breath and plunges ahead. "Addie, I'm gonna stumble through this. So bear with me, okay?"

She nods gamely, the corner of her lip turning up slightly.

"Quietly too. . . _Oh_ , don't give me that look."

She raises an eyebrow.

"Keeping your mouth shut is not your strong suit."

"You usually like what I do with my mouth open." Her eyes scan his chest lustily and despite his best efforts to remain neutral he feels a familiar tightening in his stomach.

Addison drags a confident hand down his belly, which she slides below the waistband of his pants eagerly. He winces as her fingers skim over him, and through his superhuman willpower he pulls her hand away, holds onto her wrist, stroking the soft skin, feeling her pulse - fast and crazy beneath the pad of his thumb.

 _Or perhaps it's his?_

"Please." he begins, his words tumbling on top of each other in a jumbled pile, "I'm going crazy here, Addie. You make me crazy. I keep falling. In love. . .God, can this sound like anymore of a Hallmark card moment? What I mean to say is. . .butterflies." He pulls her close and whispers into her ear, awe struck. "They haven't gone away."

She smiles and opens her mouth to respond but is silenced by his finger, lightly resting against her lips.

 _Right. No talking._

He runs a hand through her hair, tucking a few strands behind her ear. "I'm not saying this right. . .I've got this picture of us in my head. Happy. Just like that, on the mantle - the one Mark took of us, with his stupid thumb poking through the edge because he wants to be in all the pictures. I mean, who does that? Anyway," he shakes his head, "I'm losing track here once again. . .And this image of you in Gross Anatomy with your goggles and gloves and scalpel in hand and in the campus library. . .so focused and determined. And in class as well. The beautiful girl who always _always_ knows all the answers. . .And then, I see you lost and hopelessly following Bizzy. And watching this, this hold she had on you. . .And I was so afraid that I was losing you forever." The venom in his tone is really more of a habit now like a conversation that a family might have more out of ritual than necessity.

She rolls her eyes.

The last year had been pretty tough, she'll admit to that. The pressure that she had granted upon herself, to be the best of the best and to graduate summa cum laude, had gotten to her, weighed on her so heavy that she spiralled.

She spiralled bad and was so out of control and not her ' _normal_ ' self that Derek, her family, friends, and Bizzy, included, organised an intervention.

She checked in to The Dunes the next morning. It was for her own good, she had to admit. But, as the intervention played out, she most certainly didn't appreciate being ambushed like that.

He smiles and rakes a hand over her bare stomach, watching goosebumps freckle her skin at the touch. "And then I see you coming back to me. As healthy as ever. Coming to save me from Mark. And I knew once I got you back, I was never going to let you go again"

She kisses a trail up his neck. As she reaches his ear, he drops his head into her shoulder, mumbling into her skin. "You and me on that couch we bought. . ."

Not a spot in their apartment have not been christened.

She lets out a cross between a sigh and a giggle as his breath tickles her skin. He pulls away and stares down at her, want in his hazy blue eyes.

"And I look at you now," he says confusedly, wonder in his expression, "and I can't figure out how you got from there to here. I can't remember when I stopped being the guy who spent all his time worried about what your family was going to say about us being together." he stares at her now.

She blushes under his intense scrutiny and shifts on her feet. She has no real comeback, but intends to fill the charged silence. "I don't know what you want me to say, Derek. Or what you're trying to say."

"Addie, what about this?. . .I love you and it's been the best almost four years of my life. I want a renewal on that promise of keeping you safe and always catching you when you fall."

She barely hears him over the beating of her heart. "Renewal?"

"Your whole life guaranteed." he explained.

All he ever wanted was her life insured.

"You have it." she says, her eyes searching his.

Derek reached his hand up to gently caress her cheek. "I do?"

She nodded and leaned her head into his hand, pressing her lips to his wrist. "Of course you do, Derek."

"You sure?"

"Absolutely." she whispers. But he didn't bother to look at her, then. "That's not gonna work. ' _Absolutely_ ' is your way of lying to me."

"Derek." she groans.

"No, I want it in writing."

"How very possessive of you."

Normally, she'd be annoyed, but today she's definitely not. She actually finds it a little comforting.

He receives a kiss on his lower lip for his behavior and growls when she catches his lip between her teeth, scraping against it teasingly for a second before pulling away with a laugh.

"Or maybe. . ." he says quietly. His voice deepens with a cough, trying in vain to hide the catch in his throat. He continues in a whisper, the kind reserved for prayer. "Or maybe I just want to see you hold out your hand to everyone and whisper, ' _Look what Derek got me_.'" He gives her long fingers a tender caress for emphasis.

"My hand?"

He moves away from her quickly, running over to the kitchen. He reaches behind a cereal box, placed on a high shelf.

Addison's gaze follows his and she watches as he returns, carrying something in his hand. He grabs her hands and pulls her down on the couch next to him. _Oh, no, Derek_. . . The small black velvet box he holds out hardly needs any explanation.

"Marry me, Addie?" he stares at her earnestly, rubbing her slight hand between his palms, which she now notices are damn clammy.

A smile lights up her face and she takes the box from him. It's shiny. It's beautiful. It's perfect. It's not the size of Mount Everest like her cousin's and it's okay. Because it's better. Way way better.

Glancing down at it, she smiles and sets it back down next to her. She looks up at him nonchalantly. "Your trip to New Hampshire with. . .was that what this is about?"

He doesn't miss a beat and answers with practiced cockiness. "Well, maybe. . ."

"And why might I ask did it take you so long to ask me? We've been living together for over a year."

"Seventeen months." he growls, his voice deep and sexy, "I like telling everyone that you love living in _sin_ with me." He draws out the word ' _sin_ ' like an invitation.

She feels his hands sweat. She sees his foot knock against the side of the couch nervously.

"So, help me, Derek," she threatens, "If you say anything along the lines of making an honest woman out of me. . ."

"Addie," he says, his voice a tad strained, "Marry me." he kisses her deeply, hoping to urge her to accept his proposal.

Another look down at the box, assures him it's still there. She hadn't said yes yet.

 _Will she even?_

"My last name doesn't have to change whether I marry you or not." she replies stubbornly.

"True." he stares down at the box again.

Maybe through the powers of his mind he can get that ring out and onto her finger. "Say yes, Addie, you're ruining the beautiful moment." he knows he's whining now, but he's past caring.

"Beautiful moment?" she snorts. "Derek, your proposal was hardly poetic. I mean, I can't say I wasn't expecting more?"

"More?" he repeated as he stood up from the couch and pulled her by the hand down towards their bedroom.

She nodded as she walked behind him; he pulled her towards the closed door. "Yeah, I mean, I always took you to be the overly romant. . ."

Her voice trailed off as she looked in their bedroom, at the pictures of them, roses and twinkle lights and tiny little candles that decorated the room.

On the freshly made bed were rose petals laid out in the shape of a heart with a Scrabble Board spelling out ' _Marry Me, Addison_.'

She turned and looked at Derek who stared back at her.

"How?"

He smiled and cleared his throat. "Many, many, many trips up and down the fire escape and a little help from Mark, of course."

She felt her heart race as Derek took a step towards her and knelt down to his knee in front of her.

"Addison Montgomery, I am crazy about you. I have been since the moment I met you. You're my best friend and through everything life has thrown us over the last few years, we've both only came out on the other side, stronger together. You are the best thing in my life and I want to spend the rest of my life making you as happy as you make me. I don't want another day to go by without making you mine forever. Will you marry me?"

She look at Derek and down at the black velvet box. The simple, but most beautiful and precious princess cut ring flickered in the light as she looked down at the man she loved more than she ever thought possible and answered his question.

"Yes."

* * *

 ** _Bittersweet? These two. :) The couple of the century!! ;)_**

 ** _Hope you enjoyed! Let me know your thoughts. REVIEW!!!!_**

 _Please check out my other story, it's called_ _Take Me To The Other Side_


	7. Chapter 7 - Cookie Monster

**_If there were three in the Addison-and-Derek-Shepherd clan. Jealous Derek. Fluffy Addek. . . ._**

* * *

 **

Cookie Monster

**

* * *

She sighed - exasperated to the utmost brim as she hopped out of the town car that they had hired for tonight with a brooding Derek next her. He's close but not too close since he's apparently mad at her for heaven only knows what now.

He didn't voice out that he's angry at her, and he didn't have to. She knows. She've been married to the man for over a decade. She knows his telltale signs - he hadn't said a word to her ever since they left the party and that's usually her cue to either start bombarding him with questions or remain content with the awkward silence. So, she opt for the latter tonight because it's been a long day, way beyond long for her to ponder what he's bitching about in the confines of his thick skull, behind all the luscious jet black curls.

He's been moody ever since they left the hospital's annual gala benefit dinner and his attitude should be enough to put a damper on the buzz she had just managed to give herself by sipping on a particularly large glass of whiskey during their ride home. But it's not.

 _It shouldn't anyway._

She's not going to let his childishness ruin her evening. But like a petulant child, he had refused to even make a single glance of an eye contact and even have the audacity to pull out his BlackBerry to tap away at work emails - as if she's that obtuse in the head to not know that it's very _very_ well past one in the morning on a Saturday night, and whatever he's pretending to focus on couldn't wait.

He was so engrossed in acting busy that he didn't even notice she'd been drinking. But even amidst his sulking, he had instinctively held out a hand to help her out of the car, with his arm snaked around her waist to guide her up the curb, then up the flight of stairs, that suddenly is leaving her heaving for air.

She swear she didn't even drink that much tonight. Just half a glass of champagne at the party and a whiskey neat in the car. Perhaps this detox cleanse she's currently in is lowering her alcohol tolerance.

When the black wooden door slid open, he motioned for her to get in first, his foot tapping away impatiently as he waited for her to register and put one foot in front of the other. She bit back a smile because even when he's cranky he could still be a little bit sweet. Just a little.

But the tiny gesture was enough to bring back her playful mood from earlier this evening and in a light voice, she asked, "Derek, don't you think you're overreacting?

"Overreacting? Me?" he snapped as he followed her out of the foyer and into their large living room. Their shoes clicked on the cool, white marble tile floors, echoing through the halls of their otherwise pin drop silent brownstone.

He took off his trench coat and tossed it on the couch. He very purposefully committed the cardinal sin just to entice her, he must add. He doesn't know why but he's wanting a reaction out of her because right now, she's just too calm. The opposite of what he's feeling, actually.

It must be the alcohol because she's just too buzzed to even care that he had just so carelessly flopped his coat on the couch, without a care in the world.

"In fact, I think I'm _underreacting_. Do you really think I so enjoy being at an event where my wife is constantly being pawed at by other men while I'm forced to stand by and watch?"

Addison rolled her eyes and shrugged out of her bolero, reminding him just how low the cut of her burgundy backless dress is and watched in the mirror as his eyes narrowed, drinking in her porcelain skin. She turned her face so he wouldn't catch her amusement, and laid both her jacket and purse on the table next to her.

"Cat got your tongue?" he sneered and he stepped closer to her. "You have nothing to say?"

She has lots to say but, unlikely him, she's wise to not turn this 'lovely' conversation into a brawl. So, she turned around quickly with a smile that had caught him off guard.

Her fingers danced playfully up his chest and with a seductive wink, she let out a little giggle. "I do love it when you get jealous." her right hand reached out to cup his aflamed cheek. "I bet you don't even know there are different levels to your jealousy. Sometimes it's sexy, but tonight it's just downright adorable."

"I am most certainly not jealous." he hissed and jerked his head out of her touch. "And it most definitely is not 'adorable'. I just don't appreciate other men putting their hands on what belongs to me."

There's everything wrong with that sentence but she's going to be the bigger person here and just let it slide.

"Oh, so I belong to you?" she laughed. She knows he means no malice. Innocence. She closed the distance he had created between them and threw her arms around him, trying to unwind his tense shoulders. "And for the record, you are so jealous."

His brows furrowed when he stared at her, studying her like she's on a dish under the scrutiny of a microscope. She's not too sure what he's looking for. But a moment later, she saw his eyes lighten up in the answer he's been looking for.

"I don't believe this, Addison Montgomery is drunk." he scowled.

Gasping audibly, she clearly wasn't prepared for such turn of events. "Take that back!" she pouted, the burst of irritation flared quickly.

She doesn't get drunk. She's a Montgomery and that's an explanation on it's own. They're perfectly functional with a glass or three or even an entire bottle in their system and she is no exception.

"Were you drunk at the party?" he asked incredulously. "God, Addie are you trying to piss me off tonight?"

It's a benefit dinner with a number of very very _very_ important people in the medical field at the Grand Ballroom of the Waldorf Astoria and even though, there were alcohol served, they had agreed upon a glass of champagne and that's it because, after all, with their track record, they're the last persons, and Mark included, who ought to be drinking at a formal event.

"I was not drunk at the party. I may have had gotten a little tipsy on whiskey on the ride home." she informed him coolly, then. "But I was very not drunk at the party."

She wrinkled her nose and haughtily scolded him, "And my name is Addison Shepherd. As it has been for over a decade now."

"Has it?"

"Why are you being such an ass, Mister Head of Neurosurgery?" She knew his promotion would have eventually get to his head, "You know very well I did nothing to encourage any of the men whom I danced with tonight." she rolled her eyes before stabbing him hard in the chest with her finger. "What did you want me to do, huh? Cause a scene? Decline their request by saying, _'Oh, no, I'm so sorry. I can't dance since my neandertal of a husband would prefer that I not dance with you or anyone, but him for that matter, because he gets so very irrationally jealous'_? It's the annual gala for Christ's sake, Derek. I can't have the same argument with you every year."

Maybe they should make this their annual thing. A ritual. A tradition, even. Truthfully, she should've seen this coming, but, just like every year, she just doesn't.

"I'm sure you love that you can use that as a excuse. Did you notice how I refrained from dancing with anyone other than my wife this evening? Just admit it, you enjoyed it - the _attention_ , the dancing, all of it."

"When have I ever been adverse to _attention_ , Der?" she arched a brow.

He glared at her and started to pull away, again, but she reached out and grabbed a hold of his snowflake burgundy bow tie that matched her dress.

"I would have preferred to spend the evening dancing with my husband. But, come on, think about it, if you were me, would you have declined the President and CEO of NewYork-Presbyterian if he'd ask you for a dance?" she added, "Oh, and to refresh your memory, he's incidentally our boss."

"All very convenient excuses." he snorted.

"Excuses?"

"You heard me."

* * *

Aurora had been lying in bed for the past fifteen minutes, woken up from a dream about those yummy and crunchy cookies. Those delectable shortbread cookie sandwiches filled with jam and dipped in dark chocolate that Grandma Carolyn had brought for all of them. But it's mostly all for her, really, because Mommy doesn't like sweets and Daddy just has one or two and the rest is hers.

She smacked her lips in anticipation, she can practically taste them on her tongue already. All crunchy and mushy when she bites them.

She wants one so badly right now. Right this instant. _Now! Now! Now!_ And so, she considered the wrath of her parents if she were to get caught sneaking out of bed and going downstairs to have one ... or maybe three of the cookies. But the idea of either one of her parents finding her, especially her Mommy, was enough for her to command herself to go back to sleep.

Go to bed, Aurora. Mommy and Daddy will catch you and then, no cookies at all.

She'll just ask for one tomorrow morning and distract Mommy so she'll turn around and she'll hurry to grab a handful.

But she still really wants one now.

Suddenly her eyes flew back open. She just remembered, tonight is the benefit dinner!

If she remembered correctly, her mother had told Olga that they would be home late. _Oh, yay!!_ She squinted at the clock on her nightstand - it's just after half past one. Surely, they would be home by now, and tucked into their own bed because they would be so super tired by now.

So, she tossed and turned for a while, but finally the overwhelming need to have another cookie propelled her into action. She threw back the covers and scrambled out of bed, slipping on her fluffy lilac slippers and clutching her beloved penguin, Huggsy, in her arms. She had received Huggsy as a birthday present from The Captain when she turned four, which was last year, and she had slept with him every single night since.

Even though no one could see her, she tiptoed across her room - holding Huggsy's hand, of course, since they're on a mission - and opened her bedroom door carefully and slowly so as to not make any squeaky sounds. She breathed a sigh of relief when she found the hallway dark and quiet and slowly made her way to the staircase.

"Huggsy," she said in a loud whisper, "you have to be very very _very_ quiet, otherwise Daddy will find us, and then we'll be in trouble."

When Huggsy nodded in agreement, she placed her free hand on the banister, which was festively decorated with garlands and lights and velvet ribbons because Christmas is just two weeks away, and just as she was about to take her first step down the stairs, she heard her Daddy's voice.

With a gasp, she jumped back and hugged the door of the hallway. Her ear strained to listen to the muffled conversation.

"Derek Christopher Shepherd." her mother hissed.

Aurora's eyes grew as wide as saucers as she crept back out onto the landing to see what was going on. Her Daddy was about to get into _big_ trouble, she thought with a tinge of glee, because Mommy only ever calls someone by their full name when she's being very serious.

Like when she gets all serious at her too - _Aurora Solenn Montgomery Shepherd!_

Maybe if Mommy is mad at Daddy, she could cheer him up by bringing him cookies and she could eat them too.

"Addie," Derek said hesitantly. "You know I didn't mean it like that."

"Oh, is that so? Then, enlighten me please. How exactly did you mean it?" she asked in a deceptively quiet tone.

He sighed. "You know what I meant."

"No, actually, I don't. But what I do know is that you can spend the rest of the evening in the comforts of the guest room figuring out exactly what you meant and how you meant it. Perhaps, a good night's sleep will snap you out of this ridiculous mood you're in." she huffed. "And if you know what's best for you, you'll stay out of _my_ bedroom."

Her mother dramatically turned on her heel and headed towards the staircase.

Again, Aurora jumped and scampered towards the safety of the darkened hallway. She should really just run straight to her room and go to bed. But curiosity is getting the best of her, and she just couldn't resist knowing what's going to happen next.

 _Is Daddy going to sleep in the guest bedroom again?_

Her Daddy wasn't just in _big_ trouble, he was in _very very very big_ trouble. She could only remember one time when Mommy had made Daddy sleep in the guest room.

That night, Daddy had snuck into her room and slept there with her instead. Aurora had been surprised that Mommy hadn't been angry when she'd found them the next morning, she had only smiled instead.

Dropping onto the floor and hugging Huggsy to her chest, she crawled across the hardwood floor and inched her way back to the railing to get a closer look.

* * *

"Addison." he reached out and grabbed her by the wrist, and spun her back to face him. Her hand landed on his chest and she glared at him. His left arm wrapped around her waist, while the fingers of his right splayed out on the small of her back.

"But I don't like the guest room, it's not nearly close enough to you." he murmured.

"Well, you should have thought about that before you opened your mouth and made thoughtless accusations."

He caressed her skin with feather light caresses and he pressed his body as close to hers as possible. It's intention, he knows how to manipulate her too. She's not the only one. Addison tried to repress the flicker of desire she felt, but she couldn't stop herself from quivering at the contact.

"Let me make it up to you." he whispered, then nibbled on her ear.

"And how do you plan on doing that all the way from the guest room?" she challenged him. She's not about to forgive him so easily. He is going to have to work for her forgiveness because she has to put an end to this pointless tradition.

"By doing what I should have done earlier tonight." he answered and continued stroking the skin on her bare back, while he clasped her hand in his other.

He started moving his feet while he hummed a melody in her ear and she moved her feet with his as he danced her across the room.

She couldn't suppress the smile that was beaming across her face anymore and he twirled her expertly, then dropped her into a theatrical dip.

"Derek!" she squealed.

He drew her back into his arms and asked with a boyish grin, "Is it working?"

"Maybe." she said reluctantly, unable to stop the corners of her mouth from twitching upwards.

"I hate it when you dance with other men, Addie." he said, all serious now, and buried his head into the crook of her neck, and held her close.

"It's not like I want to dance with them."

"It's not _you_ who - there is no one I trust more in the world. I know you wouldn't, Addie. I trust you. It's just I hate watching and knowing what lecherous thoughts they're thinking. Their hands always travel far too low, and they practically salivate at having you so close. And I don't care if he's the fucking mayor or president or CEO or our boss, Addie." he continued, the anger starting to simmer again. "I know for a fact there's only one thing in their mind."

He's being so melodramatic but she'll take this side of him because she just finds him so sexy when he's overprotective and jealous.

"Okay." she sighed, "I know it's awful but I love that even after all these years, you still get jealous." she admitted, her fingers kneaded the back of his neck.

"Besides, you know they're all just wondering how _you_ managed to get with a girl like me."

"That's not funny, Addie." he said sternly and continued to dance, moving slowly across their makeshift dance floor.

She purred in contentment as his body shifted sinuously against hers, a tingle of anticipation running up her spine.

"Where's your sense of humor? Don't you find it the teeniest tiniest bit funny? Admit it. Who would have thought you'd be jealous because you couldn't dance with your own wife?"

"Me." he exclaimed.

But he surprised her by starting to hum in her ear again, instead of launching into another tirade. She joined in and hummed right along to their wedding song. As his hand headed lower and lower down her back, she rested her head on his chest and smiled.

"They have it all wrong, you know." he said a few minutes later when they still continue to dance, long after their humming had faded.

"Have what wrong?"

Derek stopped moving and cradled her face in his hands. He leaned over and dropped a light kiss on her lips before he said, "Every morning I wake up next to you and I wonder what _I_ did right that allowed me to end up with you."

"Charmer."

He pulled her against him and she rested her head back on his chest. His right hand found it's way to her left hand again and with their fingers intertwined, he rested them above his heart. And he started to hum another favourite tune of hers. She smiled when their bodies began to sway.

* * *

Aurora was positioned on her tummy, so she could look down on her parents from between the posts of the stairs. She switched Huggsy from her right side to her left when she realized the large velvet ribbon hanging from the garland was obstructing his view.

She watched as her parents danced slowly, she couldn't make out the song that her Daddy was humming, but her Mommy was smiling so beautifully.

With only the dim lights from their Christmas tree in the entryway, and from up above as she looked, her Mommy looks just like a princess dancing with her prince. Even though she knew her Mommy was the Queen, because Aurora, herself, is the princess, it sounded better that way.

Putting her arm around her bedtime penguin pal, she whispered into his ear, "It's like a fairy tale, Huggsy, and they will live happily ever after ... The End."

She turned to see him nodding his head in agreement. Her eyes found their way back to her parents, only to find them now staring at each other, barely moving.

With a loud yawn, she snuggled Huggsy closer, she wanted to keep watching her parents dance - it was like watching a movie - but her eyes slowly started to droop.

* * *

Addison has no idea how long they have been dancing, but she felt as though she could keep on dancing with Derek all night long. She treasured how they still managed to savour the small intimacies - how just the stroke of his hand on the smal of her back could still excite her or how the way his teeth graze her ear could still make her moan. But most importantly, she loved that she'll never ever get tired of holding his hand and how that simple gesture would still give her butterflies.

"I think it's time we continued this upstairs." he murmured into her ear. "There's a bed with our name on it, just begging for this dance to be continued in a horizontal position."

She pulled away and huffed, "I hope you haven't assumed that just because I've been dancing with you, I'm going to let you sleep in _my_ bed. That's a bit presumptuous, wouldn't you say?"

"Who said anything about sleep?" he leered at her.

"Is that the best you have to offer?" she pondered aloud.

"I could give you a massage? Hours of pleasure? Countless orgasms?" he wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively.

"That's it?" she questioned and she cocked her head to the side.

He took her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles, "I will love you for the rest of my life."

She tilted her head and stared at him, pretending to deliberate before answering. "Well, I suppose I could settle for that."

He growled at her playfully and swept her off her feet. As they ascended up the staircase, she attempted to distract him by untying his bow tie and nuzzling his neck where goosebumps had just erupted by the brush of her fingers.

"Addie, if I drop you, it will be your fault."

"If you drop me," she said before pausing to bite him on his neck. "You will be seeking refuge in the guest room, instead of spending all night and morning in _our_ bed, naked with me."

"Then, I guess, I should try my best to not drop you." he concluded.

She didn't expect it when he stopped halfway up the staircase and pinned her against the wall. He shifted so that her long legs could moved to wrap around his waist, and he inched towards her lips with painstaking slowness.

Her hands, which had initially gripped his shoulders, were now speared in his thick hair as she tried to force his mouth closer to hers. Just when she was about to yank his hair in frustration, his lips finally brushed hers and his tongue slipped into her mouth, and he ravished her with kisses.

Desperate to feel his skin against hers, she tugged his dress shirt out from his pants, and ran her hands up his back. Her fingers dug into his skin as he kissed her even harder, thrusting his pelvis against hers. He pressed into her again slowly, causing her to moan loudly while he chuckled in satisfaction.

"Now, now, Addison, you have to keep it down, you don't want to wake up our children, now do you?" Derek taunted her before he trailed kisses against her neck.

"Then, it would be better of you to get us to _our_ bedroom quickly, otherwise you'll be the one explaining to our children what exactly you were doing to Mommy." she taunted back.

"God, I love you," he said with a smile.

"I love you too." she agreed. "Now, what was that about our bed?"

He pulled her against him, her legs still wrapped around his waist as they climbed up the staircase. When they were a step away from the top, Derek stopped and chuckled, "I don't believe this."

"What?"

With a sigh, he turned around so she could face forward. Her brow wrinkled in confusion for just a second until her eyes trailed downwards.

She let out a sigh that mirrored her husband's reaction just a moment before and smiled when her heart melted. With his help, she slowly slid down to a standing position.

It's a picture perfect sight before them. Huggsy and the redhead that's all there's. She wished she had her phone with her so, she could capture this adorable moment.

"What is _your_ daughter doing out here?" he asked.

" _Your_ little terror is sleeping, apparently." she answered wryly.

There Aurora is sprawled out on the floor, fast asleep, and using Huggsy as a pillow.

"How long do you think she's been here?" he whispered.

"Who knows."

"You don't think she was trying to sneak downstairs for more cookies, do you?" he stated, more so than asked. His tone implied that there could be no other possible answer.

Addison shrugged her shoulders. With Aurora, one can never tell. "Probably? I knew I should have hidden them until next week. She's such a Shepherd, once she sets her mind on something, she just _has to_ have it."

"There's nothing wrong with that." Derek pointed out. "That's how I got you to be mine, isn't it?"

"Well, if you still want me, I'm going to ask you put our little princess back into bed." Addison said, leaning over to gave him a lingering kiss on the mouth. "I'm going to slip into something more comfortable. Don't keep me waiting …"

She slinked down the darkened hallway to into their bedroom at the end of the hall. When she turned back to shut the door, she caught a glimpse of her husband gently lifting their daughter and Huggsy off the floor. She smiled as she slipped out of her dress.

A minute later, their bedroom door opened, then closed, followed by the sound of the lock firmly clicking into place. Derek's arms wrapped around her from behind, the familiar feel of his lips skimped over the width of her shoulders - he never could manage to keep her waiting too long.

* * *

 ** _Hey guys! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. And thanks so much for reading. :)_**

 ** _Just a little snippet of what The Shepherd's could've been. Or, you know, should've been. What do you think? ;) Isn't jealous Derek just the best Derek out of all the Dereks?_**

 ** _Besides I'm trying to incorporate more fluff and smiles and laughs in my_** ** _oneshots. It's a change, and fluffy Addek is something I don't mess with so often, so let me know what you think. Please do REVIEW!!!! I'd love to know what you think!_**

 _ **Check out** Karma **(my story)!!!**_


	8. Chapter 8 - They’ve Made It

**_More fluff. Parenthood._** ** _For everyone who loves happy_** ** _Shepherds - the best kind of Shepherd there is. . . ._**

* * *

 **They've Made It**

* * *

 _September 7 1992_

They're all home now, safe and sound. His children, his beautiful wife, and himself - his family.

They're complete.

They're all home now - altogether for the first time. Just the four of them.

 _Finally._

After nearly two whole months of fighting and struggling to beat all odds, Noah and Nathaniel Shepherd are finally nestled safely in their cribs at their articulately and meticulously designed nursery.

Addison and Derek simply couldn't ask for more than the two healthy bundles of miracles they've been blessed with.

At first, doctors were doubtful of ever seeing this day and to a degree, so did Derek. They were _oh-so_ small, _oh-so_ fragile and _oh-so_ delicate to touch. They were born three months premature, both weighing well under the norm. And with Addison's fall that had resulted in a placental abruption, who's to say further damages wouldn't be detected.

The first month would, in fact, be the utmost critical.

Addison couldn't help but blame herself. It was all her fault. It was just so stupid of her - to stand on a stool, trying to balance a large bag of flour and in heels nonetheless. _What was she thinking?_ It was quite possibly the dumbest mistake she'd ever made in her whole entire ife.

Of course, Derek disagreed with her. _No, it wasn't her fault._ He didn't blame her. It was nobody's fault. It was just their time to come into the world, he had insisted. They would be fighters and pull through, he was sure of it.

And when the first month passed by and their babies were making grave progress, gaining weight and strength, some of her husband's optimism and faith began rubbing off on her.

Things were looking up.

The next month was spent with hundreds of trips to the NICU to visit their baby boys. Derek would read to them and she'd tell them how excited she is for them to come home. She just absolutely couldn't wait to carry two babies into their house.

And she just did.

It was raining when they received the news that they'd be able to take their babies home tomorrow. And against the loud pitter-patter, nothing had ever sounded better than those words.

They would be bringing their family home.

 _Finally._

They've made it.

"Hey."

Addison looks up from her sons' cribs to face her smiling husband. He's got that grin on his face that she prays her little boys will grow up duplicating. _They sure will_. It fills her heart with joy each and every time he smiles.

"Hi." she whispers quietly and walks over to him, wrapping her arms around his torso. She melts, being right where she needs to be and breathes in him. She closes her eyes at the safe and content arms.

Derek grips onto her tighter and leaves a kiss on the crown of her head, whispering something in her ear that made her smile before returning his gaze to his children who are sleeping soundly. He has never felt this lucky before in his entirelife.

"Can you believe it?" she wipes away tears. "We have two sons." she shakes her head, mesmerised at the fact that they were given not one but two babies.

But at the same time she's terrified at the fact - two boys. Double the trouble. She may be an OB/GYN and a neonatal surgeon but knows nothing about raising a baby, let alone two boys.

Bizzy would criticise; she's the baby expert, and she'd simply say that they're not mutually exclusive.

It's all going to be okay - they've made it this far. She can do this because all three Shepherds have now own a piece of her heart. Three boys, whom she is completely head over heels in love with.

* * *

 _February 9 1993_

"Where's Derek?"

That's all Addison can ask herself as she paces the floor, heading into the fourth hour (non-stop) of her two 7-month-olds screaming and crying at the top of their lungs.

Not one, two simultaneously screaming babies.

It's a broken record.

They are.

While she's at home, changing dirty diapers, prepping bottles, and making sure the twins – who'd just recently taken up crawling – don't make any mess around the house, Derek is off working - she's obviously not angry about that because one of them has to - it's the fact that he's putting in more time at the hospital over a forty-eight hour shift and he's in total bliss of how difficult her days have become.

She needs help and Derek can't seem to see that.

She needs help and she doesn't have to ask.

She had tried putting the boys down for a nap two hours ago, but it hadn't turned out as planned. Like most aspects of life. They're both teething, so getting either one to sleep have become a game of _who-can-cry-the-loudest_. Not only has this become a recurring problem at nap time for the past week, but at bedtime too. And on the off chance when one falls asleep, the other's crying will soon wake the other up and it just becomes a vicious cycle.

 _A long tiring cycle of tears._

She's currently bouncing Noah on her hip, tying to get his wailing to stop while he chews on a teething ring. Nathaniel, for the time being, has stopped crying and has instead decided that he wants to crawl all over the house – and of course, the staircase.

Addison catches him right on time as he tries to pick himself up onto the first step.

"No, no." she mutters and makes a swift run from the couch to the staircase, all the while still carrying Noah in her arm. She knows if she doesn't stop him right now, he'll wind-up hurt and in tears and perhaps, they'll all get to see _dada_ at the hospital.

She truly has had enough crying for today.

"No, no, no! Nate, you can't climb up the stairs. It's too dangerous." she bends down to scoop him up with her other hand, and already he begins to get fussy and starts whimpering in her arm.

To top that off, as she stands back up, Noah looses his grip on his teething ring and it falls onto the floor, starting his loud wails once more.

Now, she's standing with two screaming babies in either arms, all by herself, and she can feel her migraine beginning to get even worse.

She's about to lose it.

Taking a deep breath, she walks over to the playpen that Derek had set up a few months ago and gently put the restless babies down. She reaches towards the coffee table and grabs the other teething ring to hand it to Nate, carefully putting in a few toys to keep the twins occupied. She then takes off to grab her phone, ready to call the only other person who can make this right.

He picks up on the first ring, and she can barely make out his greeting over the screaming of their children.

"Is everything okay, Addie?" Derek asks, because he knows it is so unlike her to call while he's at work.

She feels slightly guilty for calling and disturbing him since he's trying to get to be the doctor to assist in Bloomberg case. But she really has no other choice. "No." she answers slowly. "No, not really." she feels tears starting to form at the back of her eyes and she knows it's only a matter of seconds before there will be three crying Shepherds in the house. "I ... um …" And she feels completely stupid and like a failure that she actually has to ask him to come home. "I'm having a really hard time with the boys right now and I need you home. I'm sor-"

But before she can even finish, he rushes in with a quick, "I'm on my way."

Derek arrives home in record time. The crying is still at full swing when he walks through the door, and when he sees Addison crying as well, his heart just completely breaks.

"It's okay, Addie. Why didn't you just tell me?"

It takes about another hour or so for them to get the twins to calm down, and by the time they did, they've worn themselves out past the point of making a fuss about going down for a nap.

"I'm sorry you had to leave the hospital." The boys have finally fallen asleep and the two adults must savour every second of peace and quiet they can get.

"It's okay, Addie." he sees how upset she is and wraps an arm around her shoulders. "It doesn't matter. I got McCormick to cover for me." He knows it's been tough lately and it's really been wearing them down. They know, though, that it is just a phase and will eventually glide right over. "Right here," he holds her closer. "With my family is the only place I want to be."

* * *

 _August 25 1994_

"Derek…" she nudges her husband's shoulder and watches as he groans and rolls over. "Derek, it's almost twelve in the afternoon…"

He moans once more and struggles to sit up. He sniffles and then lets out a sneeze.

"You're really not feeling well, huh?" she sighs and presses the back of her hand to his forehead.

He swallows and shakes his head. Sore throat, too. _Great_.

He reaches over to the nightstand to grab a tissue and blows his nose, "Sorry." he mutters through his congestion.

Addison lets out a small laugh and pats his leg through the comforter and blanket he's completely covered himself in.

"It's okay, baby. You're sick." she gives him a pout. "But I've got to go check on our monsters to make sure they haven't gotten into anything they shouldn't have. I left them in the kitchen."

At the revelation, Derek raises his eyebrow. Leaving their adventurous, enthusiastic, plain crazy two-year-olds in the kitchen, unsupervised isn't the best idea.

Noting his look, Addison chuckles. "Yeah, exactly." she jumps out of bed. "I'll be back to check on you in a bit!"

She walks out of their bedroom and into the kitchen, relieved to see her sons sitting in their booster seats at the kitchen table where she had left them. They'd just been switched from highchairs to the booster seats, so she was a tad bit apprehensive at leaving them alone for a second.

"Mama's back." she announces to the young boys.

"Papa?" Noah asks in curiosity, searching the room for his father. His face falls when he can't see him.

"Papa's not feeling well right now, Noah."

"Papa sick?" Nate asks, a small frown forming on his lips.

"Yeah, but he'll feel better real soon, boys." she assures the toddlers.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, she remembers just how early it is. The plan was for Derek to take the boys to the park today, but obviously that wouldn't be happening now. The thought of keeping the two energetic boys in the house all day is enough to drive her insane. There is no way she'd be able to keep them entertained and cooped up in the house all day. Since they turned two, she noticed the twins were all about exploring. They like adventures, and they know adventures are not found at the house.

Suddenly, she's struck with an idea.

"Hey, boys." she grabs their attention. "How about we make something for Papa to eat so he can feel better soon?"

Both their eyes light up.

"Cooking!" One of them shouts out. They love to pretend to cook with her.

"Kitchen!" The other calls.

She smiles at them before going to take them out of their seats. "Yep, that's right." She places them each down on the floor. "You guys are going to play with your kitchen."

She watches as they race over to their play kitchen that she and Derek bought last month. She knew it would be a good idea.

She noticed that the boys showed such a fascination when they were in the kitchen making dinner. Clearly at their age, they can't really help, so they had decided to buy a play one for the boys to use and keep them occupied while real cooking is actually taking place.

As the boys play with their fake pots and pans, Addison puts a pot of water on the stove. She's going to attempt to make soup, though she usually leaves the cooking to Derek. But the soup is from a can. _How hard can it be?_

After she pours the soup in and waits for it to heat up, then walks over to her sons and kneels beside them.

"Are you guys being mama's helpers and cooking for papa?"

Noah and Nate nod their heads without answering, fully concentrated on their "meals". Addison finds it too adorable.

"Oh yeah? What are you making?"

"Cake!" Nate exclaims, smiling up at his mother. He then sticks out a pan filled with his imaginary cake.

"Wow! That looks yummy, Nate. And how about you, Noah? What are you making for papa?"

Noah looks up from stirring his imaginary pot of food. " _Paskettis_!" he states proudly and Addison laughs at his cute pronunciation of spaghetti.

"That's great." she smiles. "Papa is lucky to have such big boys."

The twins nod happily and focus back on their cooking before Nate tugs on her hand a few minutes later.

"Yes?"

He points behind her, back towards the real stove. "Bubbles." he tells her as his brother turns to look as well.

"Many, many bubbles, Mama." Noah adds.

She cautiously turns back around, afraid of what her sons may be referring to. "Oh no!" she quickly gets up.

Derek's soup.

 _Of course. Why is she even surprised?_

Luckily, the damage hadn't been too much, just some splattered soup over the stove top. She managed to save most of it, thanks to her boys.

After cleaning up and getting a bowl ready, she heads to the bedroom, ready to bring her husband the soup.

"We come too." Nate says as he and his brother hold their plates of "food."

Addison really doesn't want her toddlers being exposed to the cold Derek has, but with the pouts on their faces, she really can't say no. It'll just be for two minutes.

"Okay, come on."

They break out into smiles and skip over to their mom, going in the room first.

"Papa!" They cheer, and Derek props some pillows up and leans against the headboard of the bed.

"Hey, boys." He sniffles a bit, and offer them a wide smile.

"They wanted to make you food so you'll get better." she informs and smiles warmly. "Nate made you some cake and Noah made spaghetti."

" _Paskettis_!" he corrects and both parents laugh.

"Eat, papa." Nate hands him his plate of 'cake' and Noah follows with his _pasketti_.

There's obviously nothing on the plate, but he can't disappoint his boys. So, he takes the play forks they have sitting on the plates and takes a bite off of each of the plates.

"They're delicious. Thank you, boys." He tells them.

After that, the boys try to explain what nearly happened with their mother's soup, and Derek isn't the least bit surprised.

If only the OR was the same as the kitchen.

Addison then decides that he needs to get his rest and she and the boys leave him to it.

"Love you, papa!"

* * *

 _July 30 1996_

"You do not hit your brother! Do you understand me, Nathaniel Charles Shepherd?"

This was not how their day is supposed to go. It's late in the middle of summer, and instead of having a nice day out at the beach, the family of four is at home doing a lot of screaming and yelling.

"But he started it!" Four year old Nate whines and glares at his twin brother. "Noah pushed me!"

"I don't want to hear it." Addison silences him. Lately, it seems all the brothers have been doing is fight. _Fight, fight and even more fighting._ And she's quite frankly getting sick and tired of it. She's at her wits end with their pushing and slapping. "It never stops! If it isn't you who started, it's your brother!"

Derek is sitting on the coach reading the new edition of medical journal while all the commotion goes on. He remains quiet, not really wanting to get involved.

"Well, is not my fault!" Nate yells, and this just about sends Addison over the edge.

"You do not raise your voice at me! Go to your room now! And no TV for the rest of the day!"

From his corner, Noah giggles quietly, causing Addison to turn around.

"Watch it. Otherwise the same goes for you."

Noah's smile fades. His mother means business.

"It's not fair…" Nate mumbles, standing up from his seat. His lips tremble as tears threaten to fall, but instead he lets his anger take over. "Noah never gets in trouble, mommy! It's always me!" he shouts and stomps up towards his room. But before going in, he turns around and stares angrily at his mother. "I hate you!" he walks in and slams the door.

Addison suddenly turns pale and cold as she lets her son's words sink in.

 _I hate you..._

"Mommy…?" Noah begins carefully.

Turning away so her son won't see how wounded she is. "Noah, please just go to mommy and daddy's room."

He knows not to say anything and quickly gets up and runs to his parents' bedroom.

Once he's gone, Derek sighs and walks over to Addison in the kitchen.

She looks completely dishevelled.

"Addie…"

"Nate…he…he _hates_ me." she mumbles and tries to wipe her eyes with the back of her hands. "My son _hates_ me." she says the word like it's incomprehensible.

"No, no." Derek tries to reassure her. "He doesn't hate you. He didn't mean it. He's just four."

 _Is this how Bizzy feels?_

"Well, he said it." she shrugs, then slowly turn her attention and narrows her eyes at her husband. "Why am _I_ always the one disciplining them!" she exclaims.

Derek is quickly taken aback. "So, now it's my fault?"

"Well, you never punish them. You're the care-free parent who lets them do whatever they want. _'Hey, boys, you want to fight and kill yourselves? Go ahead!_ '"

"Okay, let's not overreact here, Addie."

"Oh, I'm not." she shakes her head fiercely. "You damn well saw Nate hitting Noah before. But did you do anything? Of course not. 'Cause that's mommy's job. Mommy is the bad cop here. Mommy is who everybody _hates_."

Derek rolls his eyes. He doesn't want to pick a fight with his wife, but she seems to be doing that for him already.

So, before he really gets in trouble, he'll just throw in the towel and that's what he did. He threw up his hands and walked away, heading towards their bedroom to join Noah.

As he closes the door behind him, Addison groans in frustration and heads across the hall to do the load of laundry that has to be done.

Looks like they aren't going to the beach today.

 **XXX**

Two hours later, she's sitting alone in the living room and hears the boys' door creak open and out walks Nate. He walks slowly towards his mom and wipes his tear stricken red eyes.

"I'm sorry, mommy." he softly says with a frown and climbed up onto her lap. "I don't hate you. I love you." he tells her, hugging her and kissing her cheek.

Addison smiles slightly and lets out a jagged breath. "Thank you, baby. But you made mommy really upset. When I give you a punishment, it's because I care. I want you to see the difference between right and wrong, okay?"

Nate nods and closes his eyes, snuggling into his mom.

Addison wraps her arms around his small body and rocks him gently.

Now that that's out of the way, she'd have to apologise to Derek. She knows she had overreacted. She was just very upset, understandably so, with what her son had said.

He would understand. Derek always does. And that's why she loves him.

* * *

 _September 1 1997_

The twins, five years old, started kindergarten today. For the weeks leading up to their big day, Addison had been a nervous wreck about sending them off. Derek too.

They're no longer _babies_.

They're still her babies though.

When Addison goes to pick them up from school, she meets all the other parents and then grins when the class gets dismissed.

She wave at her two fiery redheads and they run over to her with their big boy backpacks and lunchboxes, and hug her.

"Hi!" she's excited to hear all about their first day in school. She smothers them with kisses, and they each pull away.

"Mommy, we're not _babies_ anymore!" Noah protests his mother's kisses.

"We're in kindergarten!" Nate adds in.

Addison just laughs and grabs each of their hands and lead them to the car. "When we get home, you have to tell me and daddy all about your day!"

 **XXX**

"Derek!" she calls into the house, assuming he's upstairs working on something. "Our big boys are home from their first day of kindergarten!"

As she assumed, Derek walks down the stairs with a smile to greet his family. First, he kisses his wife, then goes to hug his boys.

"Hey, boys. How was kindergarten?"

Nate is the first one to speak up. "It was so much fun!" he exclaims. "I made so many friends!" And Addison and Derek are especially delighted to hear that. The youngest twin continues to babble on about the day's happening but Noah just stays silent.

"Noah, what about you?" Derek asks. "How was your day?"

Noah is usually willing to share everything just like his brother, so Addison and Derek are slightly confused.

 _Was something wrong?_

 _Did something happen?_

"It was okay…" he remarks, placing his bags down on the side of the staircase before retreating to his room.

Nate just shrugs and follows his brother's suite, setting his bags down on the floor. He then goes in to the kitchen and sits by the island, waiting for one of his parents to come in and make him a snack.

"That was weird." Derek said to Addison, who nods, and goes in to the kitchen to help Nate.

 **XXX**

"Can I come in?" Derek knocks softly on the wooden door to his sons' room.

"I guess." he hears a quiet mumble.

"You guess?" Derek playfully asks, letting out a small laugh. "You love it when daddy comes in to talk to you." he rounds the corner to find Noah lying on his stomach in bed. "What's wrong, buddy?"

"Nothing." he shrugs and flips over to face his dad.

"Now I know this isn't nothing, Noah Shepherd. Come on. You know you can talk to me about anything."

The five-year-old sighed and opened his mouth to speak. "Daddy, Nate has so many friends already. Everyone likes him because he's so loud and…fun."

"I'm sure you've got a lot of friends too." he assures, but Noah just makes a face that tells him he's so wrong. "Right?" he adds.

"Not as many as Nate, daddy."

Derek sighs. It's only normal for the twins to get jealous of each other. But usually it's about toys and books…now it's about friends.

 _What's next?_

 _Girls?_

He'll just have to be prepared for that one.

"Well, it's only the first day. I'm sure you'll make lots of friends." he tells him, but Noah only frowns.

"How 'bout this?" Derek makes Noah sit up in bed before continuing. "Tomorrow, I want you to go to school and ask Nate and his new friends if you can play with them. And then, when they say yes, you'll see how much fun kindergarten is. You'll have all those new friends too."

"Daddy, I don't know…"

"Hey, just try, okay? I'm sure you'll have fun." he insists.

He hates seeing his son like this, because he felt that way too. He grew up not having many friends, and he would hate it if the same thing happened to his son.

 **XXX**

The next day when the twins came home from school, something changed. Not only was Nate going on about what had happened in school, but so is Noah.

Addison nods at Derek, knowing his talk with their son must have been effective.

Later, after dinner, Derek calls Noah over to ask how it went.

"You were right, daddy!" he smiles proudly at his father and threw his arms around him.

* * *

 _December 20 1999_

When the boys are seven, Mark and his wife and their children came to visit.

By now, Sawyer is already ten years old, and there have been two new additions added to their family; five year old Kai and three month old AnnaSophia.

"Oh, Mark…" Addison gushes over the tiny baby. "She is so precious."

It feels like forever since she and Derek have had a baby in the house.

It's been seven long years.

 **XXX**

It's a week after the Sloan's have left to go back home in Connecticut when the twins slide into the kitchen one morning as their parents cook breakfast, ready to start their new mission.

"Morning!" Noah smiles.

"Good morning, boys." Addison leans against the counter as Derek cooks.

"Mommy, we were thinking…" Nate begins.

"Oh," Derek remarks. "This can't be good."

Despite their father's comment, Noah continues. "We really liked having baby AnnaSophia here last week. And me and Nate were thinkin'…and we want a little brother or sister just like Sawyer and Kai have." The twins smile brightly at their plan.

 _How could their parents say no to their smiles, right?_

Derek look hesitantly at Addison who now looks completely washed out.

She's been thinking about it too. So, has Derek.

"Oh." It comes out as a whisper. "I…um…" And she doesn't know what to say. "Excuse me." She quickly rushes out of the kitchen and into her room.

"What'd we do?" The boys look lost.

Derek just shakes his head and rushes after his wife. When he enters their room, he finds her in a mess of tears in the middle of their bed, sobbing.

"Oh, baby…" he quickly sits beside her and wraps her in a hug. "They don't know any better…"

"I know." she cries, and it breaks his heart. "It's just…" she hiccups. "I want a baby too…but we…we can't."

 _Was it so wrong to want another baby? After they've been given two wonderful, healthy boys already?_

And he doesn't know what to say to fix it. They've had this discussion before. It's never anything new.

"It'll be okay. They'll soon forget about it. It'll be okay, Addie."

It won't and she knows it.

A hysterectomy can't be reversed no matter how many times you wish upon a star.

* * *

 _April 9 2000_

"I call the window seat!" Nate exclaims, pushing in front of his brother.

"But I wanted the window seat." Noah pouts.

"You boys can both have the window seat." Derek cuts in before the fighting gets any worse. "One of you is going to sit in a row with mom and the other with me."

"I call dad!" Once again, Nate is the first to call dibs.

Noah just shakes his head. He was going to pick mom anyway.

They're on their way to Los Angeles on a six hour flight, usually Derek goes by himself on occasions like this, but the boys were tired of having to say goodbye to their dad and Addison had the brightest suggestion that they might as well make a vacation out of it.

"Mom! Tell Noah to stop pinching me!"

Boy was this going to be a long flight.

 **XXX**

They've been in L.A. for a few days and the Lasker Award is tonight. So far, they've taken the boys to a lot of places to sightsee. They've walked on the Walk of Fame, did some shopping – mostly Addison did – on Melrose, and even took a drive to San Diego to visit the zoo.

Today, hours before the award ceremony, they're on the beach, just soaking up the sun and playing in the water.

"Come on, mom!" Noah calls out from the water. Addison is sitting, lounging on a chair, working on her tan. "Come in the water."

"In a little bit, baby." she answers. "I like watching you and your brother." she adds.

Derek's teaching them how to use their new boogie boards they picked up from the local beach shop up the road.

"This is so much fun!" Addison hears Nate tell Derek and she smiles. She loves watching all three of her boys enjoy themselves.

Even Derek looks just so happy

The waves are pretty big and many times it takes down the twins. But within seconds, they come back up, ready to try again.

An hour later, they come back ashore and walk up towards Addison, dripping in the sea water.

"That was a lot of fun, mom."

"Yeah, and next time, dad said he may even teach us to surf! How cool would that be!"

She raised a brow at Derek; he doesn't even know how to surf.

 **XXX**

The family enjoyed the rest of their time in California. The ceremony went as well as expected and Addison proudly latched on to Derek's arm the entire evening.

"Great job, baby." she whispers in his ear.

"Dad, that was so cool! When I grow up, I want to be a surgeon just like you and mom!"

"Me too!"

And it's really all Derek can hope for in life. Having of his two sons look up to him, aspire to be him, feel inspired by him. It gives him the greatest feeling in the world.

* * *

 _November 13 2004_

"I didn't mean to, mom." Twelve year old Noah sighs angrily as he and his brother enter their house with their mother.

"You didn't mean to cheat on an exam?" Addison asks, clearly outraged. Sure, it's not the worst thing he could've done, but it may as well be the genesis of many in the future.

They went through all of elementary school with no problem at all, and now, in the seventh grade, she receives the news that her precious little boys have cheated on an exam.

"Mom, it wasn't his fault." Nate tries to quickly interrupt. "I shouldn't have given him the answers."

"No, it's not your fault, Nate. Your brother should know better than to cheat. Just wait 'til your father hears about this."

Addison had been called in the middle of surgery that afternoon and was informed that during a math exam, Noah was caught cheating off of Nate. The teacher decided that both of their papers were invalid, and they would have to re-take in a week's time.

"You're lucky your teacher is letting you re-take." Addison comments before sending them off to their room.

 **XXX**

"Well, did you ask _why_ he did it? Maybe there was a reason…"

"A reason? Derek, the only reason our son would have for cheating on an exam is that he didn't study last night like we told him to! Why are you even defending him?"

"Addie, I'm not defending him…But maybe we should let him explain. I don't know, it's just an idea…"

Addison sighs, knowing her husband is right. He always is.

"Fine." She mutters, and she can spot a hint of a smile on his face. He knows she hates yelling at their children, but he knows she only does it because she cares.

 **XXX**

Derek quickly calls Noah into the living room without Nate.

"I'm sorry." He stands before them, hands in his pockets and eyes on the ground. They both know he's embarrassed.

"We just want to know why you did it, Noah." Derek says calmly.

Sometimes his calmness just annoys her.

He doesn't want any shouting - that's Addison's job as a parent.

Noah sighs and slides his feet back and forth on the wooden floor. "'Cause I'm dumb at math." he shrugs with sadness in his voice. He looked to his father. "You and mom are good at math. And Nate is good at math. And I'm… _not_."

"Well, you just have to study more and work harder, baby." Addison lightly suggests.

"But I do." He argues back, but not in a rude way. "I mix my numbers up and I mix my operations up, and then when it's time for exam, it's all just a mess…And I'm sorry I disappointed you guys."

Addison and Derek look up to their son as he explains his problem. Maybe there is an actual underlying problem.

 **XXX**

In the coming weeks, much to Noah's horror and dismay, Addison and Derek had taken him to see a doctor to see if he's got a learning difficulty.

Noah wants to cry when he hears such a big word come out of the specialist's mouth.

 _Dyscalculia._

It's a difficulty in comprehending arithmetics, such as in understanding numbers, learning how to manipulate numbers, and learning facts in mathematics.

They know it will be a challenge for the entire family.

And so, they hired a tutor to come three times a week to work one-on-one with Noah. Derek and Addison even help in their spare time.

They had been worried that Nate would make fun of his brother's condition, but he was actually really understanding and comforting.

 **XXX**

"Hey, dad." After school one day, Noah greets his dad in the kitchen.

"Hey, buddy. What's up?"

Noah smiles proudly, a smile that even has Derek grinning. He knows he's about to get good news.

"I got 80 on my math exam…all by myself." He adds, and Derek has to chuckle at that part. No more cheating for his sons.

He leans in to give his pre-teen a hug. "I'm so proud of you, Noah."

* * *

 _October 12 2007_

The boys are fifteen and are already in their sophomore year at Dalton School. Addison can't believe how _old_ her babies have become.

What's even more ironic is that both of her sons are in the varsity football team - they, themselves, can hardly ever be classified as athletic. While Derek can't quite say he's thrilled about it, he's glad his sons are doing what they love.

Addison knows something is wrong when the two boys arrive home in silence and just completely ignore each other.

"Hey, mom."

"Hi, mom."

They each say one after the other.

Noah goes in to the kitchen to get something to eat while Nate plops down on the couch, turning on the TV.

Addison looks up from her computer, "Um, want to enlighten your mother on what's going on?"

"Ehh…" Nate replies, flicking through the channels. "Nah." He shakes his head. "Rather not."

"Nathaniel…" she warns.

"Ask your other son." he simply replies.

Addison sighs at how childish her teenager has become and walks into the kitchen – only a few steps away – to ask her _other son_.

"Noah, what's going on with you and your brother?" she stifles a laugh. "Care to share?"

Noah closes the fridge after grabbing an apple and narrows his eyes. "You wouldn't understand anyway."

Addison stands shocked and slightly offended. "I'm your mother, of course I'd understand."

Noah just shakes his head. "Maybe later."

 **XXX**

"So, apparently, our sons are fighting about something." Addison informs Derek as they sit on the couch much much later that night over a much need glass whiskey.

Derek had been away on work to remove a tumour on a five year old and had only came back home an hour or so ago, after the boys had already gone off to bed.

Derek laughs. "Yeah, I know."

"What? How? You weren't even home…"

"It's called a phone, Addie." he jokes.

"So, you know what it's about."

He nods with a smirk. "It's been going on for about a week."

Her eyes widen in surprise.

 _It has?_

"Well, you have to tell me!" she playfully smacks his chest.

"Isn't it obvious?" he asks, but she still looks completely lost.

She shakes her head. "You gotta fill me in here, Der."

"It's over a girl." Derek states simply, taking a sip from his glass. "A cheerleader from what I hear…" he smirks.

"Oh, goodness." She sighs as a laugh forms in the back of her throat. "A cheerleader?" She leans back so she's resting against Derek. "They're high maintenance."

Like their mother.

* * *

 _June 27 2009_

"I am so proud of you, boys." Addison extends her arms so her two, tall and large, seventeen-year-olds can fit into a hug together. "And you both look so handsome in your cap and gown!" She gushes, causing them both to blush.

"Thanks, mom. Way to play it cool." Nate says, but remains in his mother's hug.

Noah laughs at his brother's comment.

"Leave your mom alone." Derek says. "If there is any day for her to embarrass you guys, it's on your high school graduation."

Addison smiles at Derek. "That's right." She laughs tearfully.

"Well, I hate to ruin this family moment we have going here…" Noah begins, taking off his cap and tucking it beneath his arm. "But me and Nate kind of have a party to get going to so…"

"Alright, alright. We can take the hint. Don't want to hang out with your parents on graduation night, we got it." Addison shoos them away. "Go. Have fun. You boys deserve it."

"Be safe!" Derek calls after them as they dash off with their friends.

 **XXX**

"We did it. We raised two intelligent, incredible boys."

Addison and Derek went back to their brownstone and their home already felt different. In two months, their boys will be off in college.

That word scares them both. _College_.

 _College_.

But just yesterday, they were _babies_.

"They're not _boys_ anymore, Derek." Addison tells him. "They're _men_." She sighs and shakes her head. "God that feels so weird to say…My babies aren't babies."

They'll always be her babies no matter what age they are.

Derek grins at his wife and leans in for a kiss. "We did good."

"We did." She agrees. "But it's going to be so different next year. I mean, our house is going to be empty. I can't even remember it empty and quiet." She laughs. "What are we going to do with ourselves?"

Derek smirks at this and raises his eyebrows. "Well…" he begins, earning a laugh from Addison as he leans over and places light kisses on her lips. "I could think of a few things…"

"Oh yeah?" she tempts him. "Like what?"

"Well…" he drags out the word once more and then, he's kissing her like it's their first time ever. And she can't help but feel like she's twenty one and in med school all over again. "We could…watch Al Pacino?"

And this sends Addison into a fit of laughter. He will never change. And that's what she loves about him.

"Sounds like a plan, Dr. Shepherd." She leans back into his embrace and closes her eyes with a smile.

 _They have made it._

* * *

 ** _Thanks so much for reading guys!! Like this Shepherd family?? I do._**

 **Please check out Karma. I've updated Chapter 6!!**

 **Happy New Year!!!**


	9. Chapter 9 - ADDISON, DON’T!

**_Post 2x12 - Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer \- Addek angst. Impulsive Addison. Vulnerable Addek. Warning. Sexual assault is the subject of this chapter. . . ._**

* * *

 **ADDISON, DON'T!**

* * *

Her whole body is churning, head to toe and everywhere in between. _Everywhere_. Her thoughts, her blood, her heart - _oh, especially her heart_ \- are all racing. Her face is hot to the touch, her fingers clutching her hot buttered rum is cold as ice. Though her extremities are always just that - cold. Her mouth is as dry as the Sahara Desert. She tries to swallow; it's sandpaper. _God!_ Even her hair is freaking out of place and she knows the reason as to why. It's because she's here, in this god forsaken city.

A city that she dropped everything back in New York for just to be called Satan.

A city that's telling her that she've moved for no apparent reason now.

A city that clearly, with her lack of friends, doesn't want her.

A city that's as moist as the Amazon.

A city where she moved into a tin can because Derek said he'll give them a try.

 _Christmas makes you want to be with the people you love._

Yes, it does and that's why she wishes she could spend it with her husband.

 _Christmas makes you want to be with the people you love._

She has to read in between the lines to understand that one.

 _It's_ saying - _no_ , it's a clear indication that he doesn't love her anymore and especially by the way he had looked at her.

It's not the same. It's not like before.

 _Christmas makes you want to be with the people you love._

That used to be her - the people that he loves.

They're not looking at each other. They don't dare say a word to one another. But he's all she can see in her peripheral view. _Hunched_ _back_. _Hands folded together_. _Jet black curls falling forward_. And she tries to pull away from him. _But how can she when there's a distance of the Great Wall between them?_

She wants to though - to pull away, that is. Because maybe if he held onto her, cling onto her or try to stop her from escaping, that way she'll know he actually still cares about her feelings.

But he mustn't. He really mustn't because if he really actually still cared, he would have suppressed the urge to completely ruin Christmas for her forever since he knows just how much she loves this time of year and how much it means to her. _He knows_. He freaking knows that.

He must still remember.

She knows he does.

He just doesn't care anymore.

They used to love Christmas. It was their holiday, not an explanation needed. Christmas was their's and only their's and everyone who knew them knows that.

 _We love Christmas._

Nothing will ever be the same.

There's tension. There's heat. There's hate. There's silence. And there's a mountain of said and unsaid regrets between them.

He's right there. Just...right there, silent and not looking at her while she _is_ looking at him. She's hoping that her gaze will encourage him to cast a glance her way. She doubts he ever will. She can only hope so. So, he could see the devastation his words has caused her.

Maybe that's why he's not willing to face her, because he knows. He knows that he've hurt her and he doesn't need the guilt right now.

But she's hurt.

He has hurt her.

But she hurt him first.

He's beside her. She can hear his long, dragged and tired sigh that is anything but. It's directed towards her. The fall and rise of his breathing is one that's unfamiliar to her now - maybe Meredith can decipher that one for her. He's sitting next to her with intentional space, looking into his scotch like it holds the fucking answers.

 _Is he waiting for her to saying something?_

She wants to say something, anything really, but she doesn't. Only because her brain and lips aren't cooperating and she knows it's a painful mirage her broken parts have conjured up in an attempt to save her from herself.

She looks back down at the bar, needing to see something bold, solid, something real. She grabs her glass and downs it in one gulp. That much is certainly real.

 _I'm lonely, Derek_ \- that was what she had said to him. She sounds pathetic, she's well aware of that phenomenon. Lately, it's all she is and sound. _Pathetic_. It's just that he hasn't touched her in so long that she thinks she's forgotten how it feels to be loved by _McDreamy_.

That is what the interns are calling her husband. Meredith included. It's inappropriate - to her, it is. He's an attending. But it only seems to fuel his ego.

 _I'm lonely..._

She's so fucking lonely and she wants him to be her Derek again. She needs him to believe how sorry she is. _Why can't she get that through to him anymore? Why don't he listen to her anymore? Why can't he believe her anymore? Why can't he love her like before?_ She is sorry. She wants him to want her. Again. Like before.

 _Hurt._

But she hurt him first. _Remember?_

When he speaks, she knows for certain that he's real - really real and had said all those ( _the truth_ ) to her - the voice that has visited her so often in her dreams unchanged by their time apart.

"Addie, it's Christmas."

She knows.

 _Why is he saying that?_

But before she can stop herself, her brain is rushing headlong down a familiar path, playing a familiar game - that of trying to figure out if this distinction in nomenclature means something particular. Like that he's telling her to stay because he actually still loves her.

 _You crazy fool. He doesn't love you anymore. He basically spelt it all out for you. Stop wanting what you can't have._

The more pragmatic side of her brain interrupts.

 _He's past you now, Addison. You did this to your relationship. It's all your fault. You wasted your time here. Go back to New York. Salvage what's left of your life there. He left you hanging with your goddamn hand in the air. No high five for you or declarations of love for the dying or not._

She shuts both sides of her brain down, focuses on scrawling on words. "I-I gotta go, Derek."

No hidden or underlying message there. Just a curt, straightforward plea. _I gotta go._ And it's partly because this desperate scrawl is all her muddled brain can handle.

She wants to scream bloody murder when she walk out to the parking lot, remembering only then that she doesn't have her car.

Derek drove them to the hospital in his jeep the other morning. Though the jeep was all wrong for her because she doesn't, have never and have never thought she'll ever ride one, she kept her complaining to a bare minimum.

She's trying. It's all she can do.

She can't stay there or _here_ any longer.

Nobody wants her here.

She's the devil.

Seattle, itself, doesn't even want her since it's purposefully messing with her hair in a bid to kick her out.

She's going back home with no husband. Only divorce papers. He has to sign it because it doesn't even make any sense for him not to.

All she has left with right now is just enough cognitive ability to understand that she needs to make it to her car, that's in the woods.

 _Can't he see that she's trying to make them work?_

She still wants a drink though. _Needs a drink._ She's craving to drink. But she just doesn't want to go back into that stupid bar with all it's damn cheer and optimism. _Positivity_. She's done with optimism and smiles for a while, she thinks.

Indiscriminate shapes begin to blur past the window of the cab she managed to hop in to, falling into stooped hunches until she's pretty sure they're suffocating her, judging by the heavy lead weight on her chest.

But that doesn't make any sense. He knows her. She knows he still does. And he must have known that whatever he was going to say will - _WILL_ eventually crush her to pieces. So, that contradicts whatever he was hoping to accomplish.

Her lungs are chugging desperately for air. The taxi driver is looking at her from his mirror. She doesn't care. She assures him that she's just fine. She just wants to get to that bar - whatever bar he's going to take her.

 _Meredith wasn't a fling. She wasn't revenge. I fell in love with her._

Oh, she knows.

Derek loves Meredith. Meredith loves Derek. Everyone with eyes can see that. The only ones who can't seem to see that are Derek and Meredith, themselves

It's bad enough that they're - _she's_ hospital gossip. A laughing stock. Now, every nurse and doctor, scrub technician and orderly will know that she lost her husband of eleven years to a one night stand. An intern.

A third wheel, that's what she is.

She's the third wheel in her marriage with her husband.

Sometimes she wishes she was blind because, in that way, Derek and Meredith can make googly eyes at one another and she'll be in total oblivion about it all. That would be much much easier for all of them.

For her. For him. And of course, for Meredith.

 _That doesn't go away because I decided to stay with you._

She understands. _Sure, she does._ Love just doesn't go away no matter how many times you wish it upon a star. _Yes, she understands._ But when is he going to start trying. _When?_ She've been waiting and judging by what he had just confessed to her, he's never going to.

 _Why decide to stay with her, then?_

 _To hurt her?_

Okay. She knows she have hurt him first.

* * *

After the day she has had, she needs to do something, something to keep her from sinking into an even deeper despair then she already is in. She needs to quell her burning thoughts and as she downed drink after drink, noting that after the third, the disgusting, burning taste of whiskey seem to dissipate into that of satisfaction, she no longer feels despair. She is feeling rather light, as if she were in a bubble and everything around her is suddenly funny and joyful.

Oh, she understands why Amy does what she does. But that doesn't mean she's doing what she _does_.

 _Or is it did?_

She isn't so sure anymore. It's not like she's very much liked by the Shepherds these days. They don't exactly talk _to_ her now. Not at all actually. And it isn't like she's picking up the phone and dialling their numbers too. She also isn't exactly their number one fan lately. Well, it's not like she ever was to begin with. But talking _about_ her is a whole other story. She's most definite that she'll be the gossip at all family gatherings to come.

They'll talk and talk and talk until the story twists and turns into something completely different.

About how she broke their beloved brother's heart, how she left him, how she slept with his best friend on their bed, how he had caught them in the throes.

She can already hear their criticism running around in her head.

 _Rich. Entitled. Demanding. Brat. Cold. Arrogant. Overbearing. Skank. Cheat. Bitch._

As she thinks about all the adjectives, really, they're all accurate.

She understands where Amy _is_ , or perhaps and hopefully, _was_ coming from, that's all she's saying. The impulsion. The irrationality that doesn't seem all that irrational at the moment. The bad decisions that just keeps on piling till you throw your hands in the air and scream, _fuck it_. Because you've had enough and you've absolutely resigned yourself from anything and anyone.

New York is where she wants to be in right now. But that's thousands of kilometres away and that's a dream that'll probably be fulfilled a week later because it's Christmas and it's difficult to get a flight last minute.

She really just wants to go home though. She wants to be with people that actually likes her.

She presses a finger to her cheek - yes, she can't feel her face.

Now, she understands why Amy does what she does. But it isn't a _something_ for her that she craves.

She thinks she'll die without _him_.

 _Is that how Amy feels when she doesn't get her fix?_

She'll die without Derek. But the thing is, she knows it's a lie that she tells herself. It's not true - she knows it deep in her heart. It's the utterly terrifying fear that she'll lay alone forever that's eating at her.

 _What if she ends up alone?_

 _What if no one will ever want her?_

Because she's not getting any younger and her wrinkles aren't getting any smoother.

She glances into her tumbler, and sighs when she realises there is only a sip left. Tipping it back, she finishes it off, slamming it down onto the counter and calling for the bartender to fetch her another. She should really stop it at that and somehow saunter off to the woods and pack her bags because suddenly the world is spinning and she don't think she can walk in a straight line, let alone up a hill - a rather tiny one, a slope, maybe - without having to grip at her heels and walk bare foot into prehistoric times.

Maybe she can just find her way to a hotel - any hotel and throw herself onto a large and empty bed, and be grateful for the darkness that will engulf her.

Or, maybe she'll get lucky tonight and find someone to take her back to his place.

That's exciting. It's been almost two decades since she's had a one night stand.

Mark doesn't count because that wasn't so much as a one night stand than a series of mistakes after what ought to only be one night of misjudgement.

Derek hasn't said that he loves her...she don't recall him saying those three words to her recently. He's either not sure, or he really doesn't love her anymore.

She frowns at the thought and she feels tears clouding her vision as she wills herself not to cry, not to break down again. She honestly doesn't understand why he's not willing to save their eleven year marriage.

Her husband, _Derek,_ doesn't want her.

She'd spent months tracking him down, and when she finally did, he, then, spent months playing with her emotions and getting her _fucking_ hopes up, only to change his mind again and shoot her down.

 _Screw it,_ Addison thinks bitterly. _Screw him. If he doesn't want her, then why try and chase it? Why try chasing him?_

A sharp whisk of the glass pulls her out of her head as she downs her fourth drink in one gulp, then forces herself to sip the fifth a little slower. Not that it matters, really. There's nowhere she needs to be tomorrow, no one who will be hurt by her hangover or her lack of focus. _Still_. She has just enough self-preservation left to know that she should probably take it just a little bit easy tonight.

It's easy enough to pick up a guy. It always is. Midway through her fifth drink, the bartender sets another in front of her. "From the gentleman in the corner." he says, gesturing towards a man at the far end of the bar.

He's hot. Mysterious, good looking even with his chiseled jawline. His muscular arms are bulging through his t-shirt, and his smoldering eyes are undressing her. He catches her gaze, and lets a slow, dangerous smile spread across his face.

Definitely not a guy whom she'd go for. But... _what the heck!_ It's not like she's ever been consistent.

She studies him for a moment, then finishes her drink. Slamming it on the bar, then swallows the shot he bought her in one gulp before sliding off her barstool and walking towards him.

He doesn't say anything as she approaches, just holds her gaze. She stops in front of him, studying him for a long moment. His eyes slide down her body, stopping at her chest, her legs, before moving back up to her face.

"Let's get out of here." she rasps.

He follows her out of the bar without a word.

She should really be ashamed of herself since she's too old for this - she's far past her twenties. But she'd spent all of her twenties with Derek.

 _Don't she get a free pass for that?_

 **XXX**

She's had plenty of sex since she'd started dabbling at the age of eighteen. Mostly with the man she has spent a third of her life with, if not, almost all.

They've had all kinds of sex. Awkward first-time sex. Make up sex. Shower sex. Slow, tearful and passionate sex. Breakup sex. Adventurous sex. Super loud, let's piss the neighbours off sex. The oh-my-god-we're-married sex. Casual, let's get it done sex.

 _Rough sex, though?_

Sure, they've done it in that nature a handful of times and she never complained. It's not like she's all that innocent in the whole dominant-submissive shebang. She most definitely doesn't have a halo around her head.

 _Biting. Clawing. Bruising. Hair fisting. Drawing blood. Shoving one another up against the walls. Fighting for dominance._

She enjoys the occasional pain and hardness that the kind accompanies and entrails. And it's something she've only ever discussed with Derek, felt comfortable in exploring herself with him. It's not something she's ever spoken out about with anyone else, certainly not with any of her other bed-mates and definitely never with any of her girlfriends.

But her current partner, whose name she never bothered to get - he seems to like rough sex a lot more than she's comfortable with.

When they reach his apartment, he shoves her on the bed, face down. And she can't help the yelp that she cried. She can't exactly breathe with the grip that's forcefully pressing her down and she really isn't sure how she had even managed to get to his bedroom as quickly as she did.

She did, though. And she's starting to regret this very decision.

Before she can really react and say something, he's on top of her, biting and sucking hard on her neck and on every exposed skin he can reach, all the while painfully groping and manhandling her breasts over her top. She panics and tries to shove him off, but he digs a knee hard into her back.

Now she really really can't breathe.

"Mmm, your ass." he murmurs in her ear, sliding his hand between her body and the mattress, unbuttoning her jeans. He works the zipper down, then shoves his fingers into her underwear and roughly inside of her. "You ready, baby?" he grunts and she swallows hard, chewing on a groan.

His other hand is pushing down his own jeans, she realises after hearing the distinctive sounds of a button being unbuttoned and zipper unzipped.

"Stop." she begs. She can barely breathe, can barely move. She tries to push herself up on her elbows, tries to roll over, but his weight is pressing her into the mattress, sandwiching her tight.

She needs to try a harsher approach.

"Get off me!" she yells, but her voice lacks volume and strength, and he doesn't even seem to hear her.

"Oh, yeah. You like being fucked like this, don't you?" he breathes in her ear. It's ragged and hot - his breath, and she can literally feel it condensing on her own cold skin.

He removes the grip that's seizing her air supply, only to be replaced by rough, disgusting, slobbery kisses. She sucks in a sharp breath, eyes wide with fear as her stomach tingles.

 _Why is he doing this to her?_

"Please, stop. Let go. No."

His grimy fingers shove her underwear aside, and suddenly, he's inside her. Pain ripples through her abdomen and she moans, pressing her face into the mattress and closing her eyes tightly. He thrusts again into her, harder, and she chokes back another moan.

The tears fall as muffled, yet desperate pleas escape her. They last only another moment before she stiffens completely as she realises what's happening _to_ her. Her body going limp, her jaw going slack, and her eyes are so wide she's sure they're going to pop out of their sockets. So, she squeezes them shut and clutches the comforter between her fists to have something to hold onto and focuses on anything but _this_.

Pain erupts from her core, radiating through her entire body until he's up and gone from the room and into what she thinks is the bathroom.

Laying there for a second no longer, her body still in shock, her mind tries to process what had just happened.

Addison pulls up her pants and attempts to flee the apartment. She's shaking so badly that she can't even manage to button her jeans. Her legs shakes as she stands, too weak to carry her weight and she almost face plants onto the wooden floor.

But she manages to regain composure and opens the door to a corridor where a couple, who lives two door across, raises a questionable brow at her dishevelled outer.

 _Does he know what's happened to her?_

 _What about her? Does she know?_

 _Are they judging her?_

But then she thinks, rationally, that there's a slim chance any of them had any clue as to what had happened only a few minutes ago.

It doesn't matter.

She sniffles, wiping at her eyes before she heads towards the elevator, not uttering a word to a single person before she flings herself onto the street.

* * *

 _What just happened?_

That...did not happen.

 _No, it didn't, Addison. You're not a statistic. You're not one of them. You're fine. You're okay. More than okay, actually. You wanted it, remember? You were the one who picked him up. You were the one who took his drink. You were the who approached him. You were the one who willingly got into his car. No one had a gun to your head. You were the one who wanted to get fucked. Remember? Remember, Addison? You can't cry wolf now because the stranger didn't please you to your liking. You can't cry wolf because he, not once, had loosen the vice grip he had on your neck while he defiled you. You can't cry wolf because no one's ever going to believe you...and with your history...forget it. You asked for it._

Because at any point of tonight, she very easily could have done things differently. She could've not run off, for instance. She could've stayed at Joe's with Derek and have a better than what now is the worst Christmas of her life. Nothing can top this, she knows it for sure. She could've not acted like a spoiled child. The thing is, she is spoiled. Always been. She could've not drank as much as she did. She could've rejected his offer and not leave the bar with him. She could've not been so fucking needy. And she could've not gone to his apartment.

 _She could've..._

She could've not been so impulsive.

The night is cruel and unearthly. The wind is whispering secrets to her. She's listening to them, listening intently. They're whispering ideas she thinks she wants to test out but does not have the courage. Not yet.

She might just take up on their offer.

Cold and moonless the Christmas night is, quiet, and she clutches her coat tighter around herself. She feels sick - _oh-so_ sick to her stomach that she stops to vomit into the gutter. Her stomach twisted and heaved as it expels all the alcohol she had ingested today. She can't remember if she has had any food.

Lunch, perhaps.

Right, she actually was hoping they would have dinner together, or something close to that.

 _Never now._

She's on her hands and knees on the curb, retching and gasping for air.

She wants to go home.

In all honesty, the trailer seems to be the best place to call home as of this second. It's tight, safe and warm. She can curl and hide away somewhere and anywhere inside that metal and never ever show herself ever again.

But Derek is the last person she wants to see at this moment in time. _No, it's the other way round._ She wants to see Derek; she just doesn't want Derek to see her. Not like this. She don't think he'll be home though, and that's all great for her. He'll probably be at Meredith's. She's sure of it.

Taking a deep breath, Addison nods to herself.

 _Okay,_ she thinks silently. Once she's home, she'll take a shower or five. She'll scrub herself raw until she can't feel her skin.

Yes.

 _You're doing great, Addison!_

She manages to climb back to her feet, wobbling unsteadily. She stumbles down the street, holding onto the wall for balance, her whole body shaking violently. There are tears streaming down her cheeks, and she can't seem to stop them. No one pays her any attention, and she's grateful.

Then, she'll pack her things and write a note for Derek to read when he gets back. And this time she'll really _really_ go back home.

The walk is long and tedious, at least it is in her mind, but she slowly finds herself making her way up the tiny hill and across the bushes and up the tin steps to the tin front door.

It's dark. No one's home.

She makes it to the door of their home, digs her keys out of her purse. It takes her several tries to get the key in the lock, but she manages to get the door open, and herself into the threshold. She hadn't wanted to come back home, hadn't thought she could, but for a brief, horrible second, she's so relieved that Derek isn't here. That he doesn't have to see her like this.

Addison collapses to the ground as soon as she's inside the trailer. She feels her knees split open as it connects with something sharp. She fumbles for the phone in her pocket, but it isn't there. "No." she cries. "No, no, no!"

That did not happen.

She curls into herself on the floor and cries, banging her fists against the tin and taking gasping, wheezing breaths as she wails.

She can't.

She _can't_...

She wants Derek to take her hand and promise her that it's all going to be okay. She wants him to hold her in his arms and kiss her hair. But she's pushed him so far away that he'll never come back to her.

 **XXX**

The scraping sound of a key attempting to jam into the lock outside is unmistakably loud, waking him up from the sleep he's just managed to give himself.

He had tried waiting up for Addison, so they could talk, or at least attempt to start a conversation because they didn't to exactly that at Joe's. The night didn't go as he had anticipated.

No surprise there, though it was for him.

She ran and he can't exactly blame her for running.

Although it's now hard to believe, his true motive really wasn't to hurt her. Though that still is what came about tonight. He had hurt her. _Badly too_. He'd be classified as a stupid fool for not noticing that.

 _He notices her_ , he thinks he should tell her that.

He can see it - the twinkle in her eyes dying down like an inflatable balloon.

No spark. No light. No flame. Just dull orbs of green-blues.

She needed space and he's more than qualified at understanding what that need means and so, he granted her just that and didn't chase after her.

But when ten o'clock turned eleven and that magically changed to one in the morning, he concluded that she'd decided to sleep at the hospital and he'll just surprise her with breakfast in the morning and they can start their much needed and dreaded conversation at that.

And now, he's wanting to swing his legs out of bed and flick the table lamp on, but then, he doesn't. He stops and squints - something or maybe it's the creative curses Addison is murmuring that is making his chest tight, and cold to run up his spine.

She's crying, miserably gasping for air and mumbling questionable tangents in the air.

His limbs fill with dread, and he can barely manage to get himself to move with the deep anguish in her cries.

She's scaring him.

Addison doesn't cry. Not at all. _Fine, she's only human. So, sometimes. Perhaps, even rarely._ A few exceptions here and there. Still, generally, she doesn't cry.

But _this_ \- this isn't just crying. It's more. It's something else.

It's breaking his heart to hear her like _this_. He did _this_ to her.

He's hurt her.

The last time he's heard her cry this much was when they were in their twenties, interns with two different last names.

 _Dr. Montgomery._ _Dr. Shepherd._

They were a lot different back then. A lot less sad and complicated, he thinks.

She was beating herself up for killing that baby when she obviously hadn't - a cruel but necessary lesson from Richard, who was Dr. Webber to them both back then.

Through the mist of black and hard sniffles, he can only make out the back of a kneeling figure with stooped and quivering shoulders.

"Addie?"

He calls warily and he sees her visibly jump at his voice and clears what he knows is tears with the back of her hands.

 _What is he doing here?_

She might have just made a mistake of going back home.

He's here and he's going to know something's wrong. He's going to know that she's just been violated.

She hears the creak of the equally tin bed, which means he's either turning to his side or getting out of bed. And when she hears the jiggle of the chain on the table lamp, she yells, "Don't!"

" _Don't?_ "

It's a reasonable question. _Why doesn't she want him to turn the lights on?_ She don't want him to see her so ugly.

She's Addison - always prim and proper.

He's her husband. He has seen her at her worst on countless occasions. But it's different now.

 _They're different._

"No. Sorry, Derek. Umm...did I wake you? Sorry...just, just go back to bed. _Okay_?"

Her voice cracks higher at the end, like she's swallowing a cry.

"What are you doing on the floor?" he gets up, walking towards her and she murmurs something he couldn't quite catch.

The floor is cold against his soles and he realises and is coming to terms with all her top complaints about the trailer. It's cold and to be honest, sometimes he does feel as though they're packed like sardines, void of any life and fresh air.

"Are you alright, Addie?"

And he tries to draw up every possibility as to why his wife is on the floor, sobbing wildly and uncontrollably. He winces slightly, wondering if it still might've been from their conversation earlier.

"I'm okay. Just... _go away_ , Derek...Please."

He doesn't believe her at all. _She's not fine._ His mind and body is telling him to turn the lights on because something is so very wrong with Addison. He can feel it in his bones. So, he fumbles with the switch on the far corner of the wall, immersing the trailer in just enough soft brightness to bring light into the pitch black.

She covers her face quickly, whimpering at the stiffness of her body.

She can still feel his hands all over her, his harsh breath in her ears. He's still everywhere on every inch of her skin and she wants nothing more than to submerge in hot boiling water.

There's no bathtub in the metal box.

"I'm fine." she says, her own voice more aggressive and angry then she intends. "Why don't you just leave me alone, Derek?"

He's getting a lot more irritated by the passing second and her stubbornness isn't making things easier on either of them. "Addie. Look at me."

That - she didn't mean it like that.

She shakes her head, "I'm, ahh, really, just really tired." she hopes he can hear the apology in her words.

He still doesn't understand why she's covering her face.

"Addison, I don't have time to play games with you."

When she absolutely wants to be left alone and all by herself, he wants to pretend that he still cares.

She sighs in frustration and so does he.

"Addison," It's an exhale and he crouches by her side, attempting a softer and less rude approach, "What the hell is going on?"

He puts a hand on her wrist, trying to push her hands away from her face and she does, unexpectedly too and with no small effort.

She isn't sure what happened - she flinches. _Violently_. She yelped like he had just slapped her across the face.

It looks like he did by the way she's looking at him.

Derek, too, draws back like she's hit him. He stared at her, mouth open in shock.

"Sorry." she says, trying to calm her racing heart, trying to turn away so he wouldn't see her. Too late, she knows that now. "I'm just...I just want..." she can't figure out what she wants, what to say, what to ask for.

He sees it - what she's hiding, revealing more than what he's prepared to comprehend.

She's a mess of tattered, ripped clothing, jeans _unbuttoned_ , smeared makeup, and messy, more than just tousled hair and Derek finds himself piecing it altogether until his own eyes are clouding with tears and he's staring at his wife in disbelief.

 _No! No!_

But it's unmistakable. He's seen it plenty of times at the hospital. Girls like her - battered, scared, shaking, crying, trying to look as though they're okay when they're really actually not.

There are bite marks on her neck and scored flesh from where canines abraded her tender skin. Dried red on her bottom lips that's beginning to swell badly. He can see all the purpling impressions over chafed skin and his blood begins to boil.

 _No! No!_

It's a sight difficult to wrap his head around.

 _Who? Who? Who?_

He's going to kill that disgusting pig.

She begins to sob again - loud, disgusting cries that are causing her to breathe in shallow breaths.

He just watches her. Raw and expelling what she has left. The pain she is in, he feels it too. He'd rather go blind, really. And deaf too.

 _Who did this to her?_

"Who-" he wanted to engulf her in his arms which in hindsight wasn't the brightest of ideas because she began screaming on top of her lungs, piercing his eardrums.

There's no life for miles on end, otherwise cops would've already been at the door.

"Addie! Addie!" his tone is urgent.

She doesn't listen though. She's wailing and pushing him away.

" _Addison_." It's a plea.

He doesn't know what else to do since she's clearly somewhere else.

He doesn't know how to calm her down.

He doesn't understand why _this_ happened to her.

It's not fair.

"Hey, hey. Addison, darling, please calm down," grabbing her face between his palms. "It's me. It's Derek. It's just me." he shouts a decibel above hers. But it all seems to just be making things worse as she tries to frantically claw at his face and scream at him not to touch her.

He doesn't know what to do for her now. "Addie, you're safe." he says softly. _Is she? Is she even safe with him?_

His heart is pounding violently against his chest, his vision blurs at the squirming cold in front of him. He tries to shake her, snap her out of this trance, but she just cries out louder.

Their equally blue blues met and what he sees is raw and pure fear in her eyes. _She's afraid of him_. And so, he respected her wishes and he let her go. Not give up on her. But just let go of her.

She quickly ushers to a corner, tucking her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around herself.

There's still tears left to cry.

 _She's afraid of him._

"I'm sorry." he whispers, clamping his hands tightly over his own ears. He doesn't want to hear her anymore. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Addie. I'm sorry..."

He's sorry. He's so sorry.

 _She's afraid of him._

He's not giving up on her. Just letting go of her.

She's crying, still crying and he's afraid she'll hurt herself, or he'll hurt her.

She's loud. _Oh-so loud._ Salt travels down his cheeks too.

He can still hear her long after shutting both doors - the trailer and his jeep. And even after the engine sung through the roaring winds.

He's crying. And she's still crying.

 _ **Hey guys! Thanks for reading. It's a sensitive topic, I know, but I wanted to explore something different.**_

 ** _So I've decide to continue with this story._** _ **Please go check out my story -** Find Your Voice **. That's where I'll continue with this story.**_


	10. Chapter 10 - Delicious Ambiguity

**_Post 3x05 - Oh, the Guilt \- Post divorce Addek. Vulnerable, moving on Addison. A slight make-believe of Season 3 Derek where we'd all like to believe he wasn't always an ass. . . ._**

* * *

 **Delicious Ambiguity**

* * *

 _"I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next." - Gilda Radner_

 **

x x x

**

Hot dark red runs down the palm of her hand, thin rivers coursing out of the shallow lines that's carved into her skin.

 _It's warm_ , she notes. Her blood is warm. _Really really warm._ She smiles because that just contradicts the whispers she's been hearing. That proves everyone, who says she's a plain, coldhearted bitch, wrong, right?

 _Right?_

Those interns and her ex-husband included.

It is now proven that she's human. She's warm blooded. She has a beating heart - a rather big one, in fact. That she's not Satan.

They will all have to believe her now.

Evidence drips off the tips of her fingers and onto the sink, staining the porcelain pink. She dabs at the wound on her wrist with a damp paper towel, trying to staunch the flow. And it doesn't work. It ripples quick and blossoms the tissue scarily bright. Nothing is as simple as it should be, as it was. Just like her heart, it's unfixable.

Discarded gause litters the floor - here and there, the cotton weaves stains a filthy dark crimson. The fifth floor locker room is a slaughter house now and she's glad that she had stumbled upon it when it was empty.

The edges of the cut just won't stop seeping and trickling down her hand. It tickles her redden skin as it runs. But she's not too sure if she wants them to sprint away like it is. She knows she should do something, like apply pressure or go down to the pit and have someone stitch her back up, but, at the same time, she doesn't want to.

It's proof.

 _But for whom?_

Because no one is here to witness the fact that she's not made out of stone.

So, she presses hard against the torn flesh for her own betterment, hissing through her teeth. But she doesn't stop, doesn't release the pressure, doesn't allow herself to pull her hand away. She needs it. Needs the stinging and burning reminder of just how bad of a person she've become.

She's bad. She's worse than bad. She's despicable.

It's all the explanation she needs because good people don't do the things she've done.

 _Ever_.

Bizzy had taught her well as a child, it's just that she's forgotten all of her mother's training on how to be and act like a lady because it takes more than getting your period to embody one.

Good people has morals, ethics, respect and class, whereas, she - she has none of those.

 _Nonexistent_.

The locker room door swings open and she jumps, water splashing up onto her white blouse. Her elbow slams into the edge of the sink as she quickly tries to submerge her arm from under the faucet. She curses. The last thing she needs right now is to have more rumors swirling about how unstable she is.

"Addison?"

 _Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit!_

This cannot be happening.

She knows that voice. _Familiar_. Her ears have heard that very tone over millions of times. _Addison_. He sounds almost bored, displeased that he's having to run a maze to look for her.

 _Yes, absolutely familiar._

"You in here? I need you for a -"

Derek rounds the corner and stumbles to a halt. The colour drains from his face and he races toward her with a trembling hand.

She turns around, doesn't let him touch her.

 _Stop. Don't. No. I'm fine. Let go. Stop. What._

But he's Derek - he doesn't listen and tugs at her arm anyway.

 _Would you just stop fidgeting for one second and let me look?_

Finally, Addison lets him and settles herself to come to terms with the fact that Derek always _always_ wins. She exhale and her eyelids slips shut when his warm, soft fingers close around her elbow. He's examining her with expert hands while proof of her existence drip-drops onto the floor and he lifts her arm with a touch far more gentle than she deserves and her throat swells with tears.

So, this is what it feels like to be touched by McDreamy.

" _Addie_."

The anguish in his tone makes her sway on the spot and his other hand wraps around her hip, holding her steady.

"Did you -" He trails off, adam's apple bobbing as he stares at the long, jagged cut down her forearm. She knows what he sees. She had seen it too. What he's thinking. And that's why she's here, trying to rub it all away.

"It's not what it looks like."

Derek's eyes float up to meet her own and the sheen she sees there makes her want to pull him close, wrap her damaged self around him and hold on until they're both whole again. _Well, she - until she's whole again._ Because he's as whole as ever. _Wholier_ than he has ever been in their marriage. Like he's just found the missing piece of a puzzle - Meredith. He's perfect. He's not mourning their marriage like she still is. He's never been happier. He's beaming brighter than the sun.

She's jealous. But she won't say that out loud. Just loud in her head.

 _It's okay to be a little jealous, isn't it?_

That's the whole point of a divorce.

She takes half a step closer to him, her free hand itching to reach up and caress his cheek.

A proof that this isn't just a fragment of her imagination. He cares. He cares about her. Again.

She doesn't move.

She cannot do that to herself anymore, she has to remind herself.

She's trying to gain back some self-respect, self-esteem and self-confidence. Besides, she's diminished all of her rights to touch him.

"I cut myself." she says and he makes a pained choking noise.

 _Or was that a chuckle?_

"I can see that."

"It wasn't on purpose." she says, her gaze dropping from his. She stares at a tiny dark spot on his shirt, a souvenir from his morning coffee. "I didn't -"

She can't say _wouldn't_. Not after all that she's done. Not after his excursion to her hotel room and seeing his pained face when Mark walked out of the bathroom. It's all about timing - timing is always key and timing is never ever on her side. Not after the months of worthless trying to fix something that's bound to fail and shatter to pieces - their marriage.

She's tired. She's so tired that she _would_. But bleeding out isn't her forte. She perfers the less messier way, like a row of little white executioners ready and waiting, all laid out on the nightstand.

She can't say _wouldn't_.

But she didn't.

 _She really didn't._

"Addison."

He doesn't sound like he believes her.

Shaking her head, "I didn't." she insists, voice stronger this time. "I didn't." She gives in, lets her left hand raise to rest on his chest. She can feel the thundering of his heart and some baser part of her brain wakes, sending shivers of want skittering down her spine. "I broke a glass, Derek. That's all."

His hand slides down her arm, thumb sweeping around the uneven edges of the cut. " _You_ broke a glass."

The disbelief in his tone slices like a knife in between her ribs. He doesn't trust her to tell the truth. Of course he doesn't.

He shouldn't.

 _Goddammit_.

She needs him to trust her again, to believe this truth at the very least.

"Derek." she breathes, her fingertips curling around the crisp edge of his shirt pocket. His eyes dart up to hers, the blue so deep that she has trouble remembering what she wanted to say. Her heart flutters somewhere near her oesophagus. And she breathes like she's forgotten how to. "I broke a glass. I was just -"

She swallows. There's nothing left to do but say it. Give him what little truth she can.

"I was thinking." The hand at her hip tightens. "About us. About what ... really happened with us." She stares into his eyes, fighting hard against her instincts to run as fast and far as she can. "Where it all went so terribly wrong?"

He's wanting to say something, she can clearly see the blaze in his eyes. She knows what he's going to say and she's waiting for him to spit venom far more potent than any viper and when he doesn't, she reads it from his own eyes and swallows.

"It's okay. I'm okay. Really." she shrugs out of his grasp and tries a laugh but that's still not believable because he's not laughing along.

She doesn't want to hear him say it, truth be told.

He nods. Just like her, he doesn't want to argue anymore because pinpointing a specific time and place when their marriage fell off the rail isn't healthy for either one of them, isn't going to fix a thing, isn't going to make them civil and all he wants now is for them to be civil.

 _Civil. Friendlier. Nicer. Smilier. Kinder. Gentler._

Derek drops his gaze to her arm again, his thumb still rubbing soft circles around the bony protrusion of her wrist. "You broke a glass."

She nods.

"You need stitches."

She needs stitches - _yes,_ she've known that for years now. Her wrist isn't the only one that needs to be stitched back together.

Addison breathes in through her nose, counting to ten before she begins her exhale. She watches his chest, sees it start to expand and contract in time with her own. They stand in silence. Breathing. Together.

 _Like before._

The opening of the locker room door breaks the spell. Derek eases her injured arm back down to her side and the hand on her hips falls away.

"Want me to page _your_ boyfriend?" he says in a half-laugh and spite within it all. _Your_ _boyfriend!_ And she steps back like he's just slapped her. He might as well have, actually. It would've made all the more sense with the look she's giving him.

"He's not my boyfriend, Derek." she says - _no, pleas_ \- since she's sounding like she's begging on her knees for him to believe her and listen for once. Just this once - he's not her boyfriend.

 _Please. Please. Please. Why don't you believe me anymore? Why don't you just listen?_

He _used to_ cling to her every word.

"Could've fooled me."

"Can't you stop being petty and let it go already? And let me remind you that you are no innocent victim here." Her heart pounds, anger rising in her voice while her mind swarms with images of her waiting and waiting and waiting at the dance floor for her damn husband to come back from wherever he had run off to like the idiot that she is. Her stomach churns painfully like her heart that's needing stitches and she presses a hand to it. "It makes no sense that you harbour all this hate towards me when you did the same thing to _me_ , Derek."

"But _you_ cheated first."

"Two wrongs don't make a right, Derek."

He looks back at her and she can see it all right there in his eyes. Everything he wants to say but can't because he knows she's so very correct and he's Derek - he doesn't ever lose in an argument.

"Come on," he says defeated, turning toward the door. "I'm taking you down to the ER."

"I am capable of taking myself downstairs. Thanks."

 _...but no thanks because you've just made things worse by showing up._

She steps a step further away from him, injured arm curled around her middle.

"Addison."

She doesn't listen and walks out with head held high. Faking dignity when she has none left is all she has got. She has to fake it till she makes it.

She can't love him. Not anymore, not the way she wants anyway. She can't hold him or kiss him or let him be there for her when she's hurt or on the nights when she's drunk off her ass and crawling through broken glass.

She needs to find a way to love herself more than she loves him.

* * *

 ** _I've continued with last chapter's OneShot - ADDISON, DON'T - it's a separate, independent and new story called Find Your Voice. Please go check it out. Chapter 2 is already up. _**

**_Tsk, tsk, tsk! Addison and Derek! Season 3 was brutal where all hopes for reconciliation were pretty much nonexistent._**

 ** _I'm sighing sadly right now. :(_**

 ** _Thanks for reading. Your thoughts and reviews are always always appreciated. REVIEW!_**


	11. Chapter 11 - I Hate You, Then I Love You

**_Dark and twisted Addek. Before Mark even happened. . . ._**

* * *

 **I Hate You, Then I Love You**

* * *

 _You hold me bound to you. . ._

It takes two hearts that beat together to unite as one.

It takes two to love and listen.

Two eyes to want and feast, then, roll in ecstasy, and two hands to hold on tighter than ever and never dare let go.

It takes two to plan a forever after.

A sweet devine surrender.

It takes two for eyes to linger and meet, hands to wander and claw, a face to be buried in between breasts and at the throbbing of her curls.

It takes two to love it all.

But it only takes one to keep a secret.

* * *

 _I'd like to run away from you. . ._

She still remembers it at times, when she curls unprotected and woeful in a pool of salt. And only since it is of that night all she can remember - how and why so soon. She do not understand what happened, still cannot wrap her head around that night.

 _Why? Why? Why?_

She is desperate for answers.

In the pre of bright - long before the birds would chirp and the sun would mock, when the world would just be silent and eerie and the sheets sprawled over her would feel as foreign as the tenderness in Bizzy's touch at her _leaving_ \- she flits her eyes shut and remembers a glance, a pant, a caress, a slap, an arch of the back; a tear across porcelain in a cold, soul crushing, life-ending room.

It never was so cold and haunted before, though.

Some mornings - perhaps, most mornings, she wakes up to his eyes before he surges in, before the pain festers with the deaden familiarity and the adrenaline and the heat and before the " _I will love yo_ u _till we're old and grey._ " would set in and before reality became an everlasting echo.

It is real. She feels it. She still feels him. He is still here and not _there_.

On the days she is feeling almost audaciously bold, her fingertips will press against the inner flesh of her thigh on the purple, almost blue-gray lesion graciously left behind, weeping the blood clots beneath.

And she does not dare to have an inkling to face the fact that the bruise there would have already departed her skin by the end of summer, and she continues to press ferociously for a shock, a wince, a reminder, a whimper, a pain; an indication that it may have actually existed.

It is all she has now.

* * *

 _But if I were to leave you I would die. . ._

She returns the week before Christmas, fingertips against the crisp frost of the cab window. The cab driver snorts, curses, flails and shrieks a staccato rhythm that is a decibel or two above the blaring horns as he snails through New York traffic, but it goes unseen by the passenger inside.

All she sees is the worn and white tread by Saks, the steaming cocoa held between cold, frigid hands; the pieces of herself in a city as strange to her as the woman staring out the cab window.

* * *

 _I'd like to break the chains you put around me and yet I'll never try. . ._

It is Archer who greets her at the door first, towering and mighty, with a kiss to her sunken cheek, arms wrapping entirely around her near-gone waist and she is suspended for only a millisecond along with a joyous twirl, and a grin that is unmistakable even to her clouded eyes. She then turns as Bizzy takes a moment from preparations, before she sends her daughter up to her bedroom in a brush of a kiss, the gesture still as unusual to her as the moment it first happened.

It is only when pearl studs laces her ears that she realises her hands are deathly shaking.

She needs to ready herself.

* * *

 _No matter what you do you drive me crazy. . ._

It is an unmistakable shiver up her spine that has her lids shutting for a moment.

It stings. It hurts. It is welcomed.

She grinds her teeth, flexes her fingers, and opens her eyes, watching as he simply regards her with a nod before turning back to his colleague.

At least he cares enough to give her a nod.

She can settle for that.

 _I only love you more._

And it is only one stop to the restroom, one finger pressed against her inner thigh, that allows her to smile through the night.

* * *

 _I'd rather be alone. . ._

She watches him watch her - taking a sneaky glance every now and then at him; watches him remain in her vicinity, eyes catching him always as she greets her parent's guests with a toothy grin and in her best dress as an army of New York's finest elites welcome her back home from Congo, ergo completion of the MSF project.

They do not really actually know where she went.

She do not too.

She cannot remember.

 _Was she in Paris, Milan, London? Did she even leave the States?_

It is what Bizzy had told her ladies at the country club anyway.

 _Just stick to the story, Addison, darling._

And the chase to be close to him is nearly effortless as she snakes her way from the parlor, past the doors, and up the stairs.

In the quiet dimly lit hallway, there is the most beloved embrace dashing ahead of her and she runs.

 _I miss you._

It takes two for hearts to beat, eyes to roll, hands to hold.

This time, it takes two to keep a secret.

* * *

 _But then I know my life would be so empty as_ _soon as you were gone. . ._

He breathes against the skin of her neck, presses his toes hard against the skin of her calves, and traces the curve of her ear with his tongue.

It is summertime and the room is blazing, sheets hanging off the corner of the bedpost, windows stretched and curtains still against the ill-present breeze. Trays of room service litter the carpet, his desperate need to fill the vacancy near her ribs translating into the remains of sweets and starches. His chest holds the markings of a mad woman, her nails ripping at the skin as he held her down and forced heavy plates of pasta, bread, scones, syrup, dusted cocoa truffles down her throat.

 _Noooooooo! I can't!_

She screams in his face, tears at his hair, slashes at the flesh on his back and finally runs into the shower. He is at her feet within second. He is always _always_ at her feet, behind her and following suit, and she slams the glass shut and taunts him with eyes locking with his own and one finger shoved down her throat.

He is soaking beside her by the time she blinks and yanks the finger from her mouth, pushing her up against the shower stall and locking her arm behind her.

"Tell me you love me, Derek."

She is gasping and raging and most certainly crying as he lifts her up, whilst she squeezes her eyes shut, and acquieses.

He laughs. It is a deep and throaty one and so not of his character before he speaks, before he digs his fingers in her arms and leaves her seeing white.

"Then how can you do this to me?"

* * *

 _You treat me wrong. . ._

It is a late when Savvy sees them, tiny love bites trailed from the curve of a shoulder, down the expanse of her back and across the portruding ridges of her vertebrae, finally wrapping around her hips and halting above her curls. She hears Savvy's loud gasp as she comes in, her arms unconsciously tugging the silk of her robe over her body, depleting the evidence from Savvy's sight.

The heaviness in those sapphire orbs becomes too much to bear, so she heads into the bathroom and locks the door behind her, fingers trailing down a particularly savage mark right above her sex.

"Addie, darling, please talk to me." she hears her plead, the knocking of frantic pounding at the doorway is making her head spin and palms grow hot.

"Please, Addie, you have to stop this. Please. Not again."

He had been so ever tender that night.

She kneels on skin and bones and heaves.

* * *

 _You treat me right. . ._

" _This_ isn't going to last." he murmurs against her ear with fingers so tenderly tracing patternlessly on her forearm that she barely felt them at first. Her eyes catching his in the silent backdrop of a mirror in the hotel bathroom. "And you know it too, Addie."

She is forced to watch wretched eyes regard her with as much respect as the memory of his tongue dipped deep within her sex.

"I don't want trouble."

She does not want to hurt anyone else.

It is a trembling degree laced with a hint of firmness that overcomes her. "I'm glad we have that settled."

Only when she tries to escape his body behind hers does his hand slip and she cries for him, because he is slipping far away from the memory of stolen kisses in library study halls and public kisses laden with coloured gifts and vengeful kisses atop dance floors and parting kisses in the rain.

"Love me. Please love me, Derek."

It slips, and he drags, and she pulls - like always and he clamps one hand over her mouth and whispers about fiancées, broken promises, forever afters and the places where only he can make her purr.

* * *

 _You make me fight with you. . ._

She swears and promises him that she will not follow, but he only smirks and tugs at her arm and leads her out to the open window of the building. It is a long drop and it is cold and windy. She will surely splatter on impact. She will not look like her, then. Only like a freak accident.

She attempts to run back and pleads for him to let her go, but it is all pretend, really, all the most spectacular show ever invented as he holds her tight and has her laughing within minutes.

She is not done yet.

He pulls her to the fields and water and aids her in disrobing from the white and pearls and lace of what should have been the most memorable day of her life.

He taunts her to join him in the water, taunts her flesh to meet his and depart from the pounds of white fabric at her feet.

She steps into the water in her undergarments and swims and floats and has him at her back within seconds.

"I told you I wasn't going to let you go through with it."

She can only laugh as he smiles against her ear, presses a damp kiss at the base of the structure, lays her on her back to float.

"It's forever after, Addie. You want that, right?"

 _Yes. She does._

His voice becomes fainter and fainter, farther, then distant, and the water gets higher and higher, but she is smiling through it all.

* * *

 _Impossible to live with you but I could never live without you. . ._

She awakens to a pair of clear gazing sapphire eyes and a thin tube pressed neatly at her wrist. Her lips feel chapped, and there is a numb and pain every moment she breathes, a numb pressure that overwhelms her lungs and makes her feel painfully lightheaded.

Savvy's lips are shaking as she presses a kiss against her forehead. She feels them. She hears words and senses movement and feels pressure at her throat.

"... A number of lacerations covering the mass of her shoulder down to her back and hips ... signs of starvation and perhaps regurgitation tendencies too ... severe hypothermia when admitted ... third admittance since her last suicide attempt following her husband's death ..."

"We're going to get you help." she hears her brother speak, it's hoarse and pained and she has no strength to comfort him because she can only watch Derek as he approaches her bedside and kneels beside her.

He brushes her hair with his fingers, rubs at her lips, and smiles widely.

"I'm never going to let you go."

She smiles.

 _Okay._

* * *

 _ **What do you think?**_

 _ **I love me some dysfunctional Addek relationship. Actually this is how I'm feeling about my GPA. I'm stressed about school so I'm writing.**_

 _ **Please review!**_


	12. Chapter 12 - Blue Eyes

**_Addison and Derek's first meeting. Addek Angst (-ish). Set in a very very alternate universe. . . ._**

* * *

 **Blue Eyes**

* * *

It's a cold night in December when it happened. She's waiting in Damon's car, blowing into her hands to keep them warm because even though he has left the engine running, the heater is still broken.

 _Why isn't that a surprise?_

Maybe if this goes well, they'll have enough money to buy a new car - or at least get this dump fixed.

That being said, she knows the more likely scenario - more money equals to more drugs and Damon does care and is not bothered enough about material things to worry about anything more than rent, gas, electricity and water bills and, of course, keeping the liquor cabinet stocked.

There's a blanket of snow on the ground, not enough for traffic or planes to grind to a halt, but enough to warrant the boots she's wearing and the thick winter coat just enough to keep the chill off. She huffs out a breath and it fogs up the passenger side window so much that the view of the apartment building they're parked outside becomes cloudy and tinged with grey. Or, at least more grey than it already is. Winters in New York isn't much more than a palette of whites and charcoals.

But it's nevertheless beautiful.

The snow continues to fall, light flakes turning to heavier ones and Addison jabs at the radio because she hates the silence of these nights - the ones in which he leaves her in the car to keep watch for the cops or anyone in particular from walking in on 'whatever' he's doing while he demands money from clients who haven't yet cleared their tab. Last thing they need is for someone to question whether she's alright in there.

She's tired tonight, limbs heavy from continuous interrupted sleep and the effects of a couple whiskey shots before they drove across to Washington Square Park ( _a little dutch courage, she knows, but won't admit._ ) and it's taking a monumental amount of effort to keep her eyelids from closing like they desperately want to.

More minutes pass though, and there's a growing uneasiness about the amount of time she's been waiting for her boyfriend to return. She has the apartment number memorised but she's safer out here, in the dark, she knows it, and besides, he hates it when she comes looking for him.

It had happened a good few times ago, in the beginning, where she would panic and go to check if he was alright, only to find trashed homes and a client nursing a bloody nose or some broken ribs or other things dislocated. And he would be furious, screaming at her, telling her she'd risk some overly-nosy neighbour reporting a strange car parked outside or risk creating a scene by walking in on something she didn't need to see.

What he means by that, as she had gathered over the years they've been doing this together, is of a body. _A very dead one._ Damon has killed before and she knows it and yet staying with him is better than any alternative she can think of. Staying on his good side, too, is safer still.

 _Of course._

All of a sudden, the front door of the building she has been watching bursts open to reveal a man in only a t-shirt and jeans, his cheek bloody and swollen - the recipient, she imagines, is the barrel of Damon's gun - being forced towards the car by Damon, himself, and already she knows this isn't going to end well tonight.

She hops quickly over to the driver seat because if this is the hostage situation she immediately fears and knows for a fact it is, there's no way they can put this guy in the backseat of the car without handcuffs or a rope or cable wires - none of which they have, of course - _and it's not like she can hold him, now is it?_

Once she's seated there and her shaky fingers are clutching the steering wheel, the back door opens and she hears Damon shoving this stranger onto the seat, watches in the rearview mirror as he falls against the other door lazily and limp like all his energy has been sucked right out of him.

He slams the door shut behind him and barks at her to drive, the harshness in his voice betraying how panicked he really is.

It wouldn't have been obvious to many and other people, she thinks, but she knows him, knows him all too well, as she has ever since she was sixteen and had fallen deeply in love for the no-good-pot-smoking-public-school-dropout, which had to result in an ultimatum by her parents - him or them ( _but, really, when did the Montgomeries ever prioritised family amongst other discretions?_ ) - and it doesn't take a genius to figure out whom she had chosen over.

She'd like to think it was all the hormones coursing through her veins and naivety that made her think without her head that day. She'd really like to believe that because she wasn't all that stupid ( _she was suppose to be a surgeon. Not a high school dropout_.), up until she met him, that is.

 _Stupid in love._

Love is stupid. Love is overrated. Love make you do dumb things. Like making the wrong decisions that cuts you out of lives and trust funds.

She just wanted _that_ love and she finally found it with Damon. And Damon, he loved her.

 _No, he loves her._

He loves her. And she still loves him.

"Addison, go!"

And everything in his tone suggests this isn't what he had planned. His anxiousness quickly transfers to her veins and her whole body is humming in fear.

"Fucking drive!" he shouts again, and she floors the gas pedal, resulting in a high-pitched squeal from the tyres as they protested against the lack of friction on the snow until finally, they give in and let the car travel away from the curb.

"Where to?" she asks, gripping the wheel even tighter as the guy in the back groans and Damon hisses at him to shut the fuck up.

"The basement."

" _Our_ basement?" she asks incredulously because, _yeah_ , she doesn't expect him to have much of a plan but she would have thought there would be something better than this - their fucking basement - better than hiding a goddamn hostage under their kitchen floor.

"How many other fucking basements do you know?" he spits, any last remnants of calm evaporating.

She swallows and puts her foot down further, just making it through the next light before amber turns to red.

She wants to ask him whether he's thought about this guy remembering their route, being able to memorise the houses in their shitty shitty neighbourhood so he can lead the cops back there once he escapes, storing every detail of their faces in his mind so that he can pick them out of a line-up and put them away for decades.

Of course, she knows he hasn't, because that's the thing with Damon - he's rash and impetuous and reckless and impulsive and as much as that was once their once upon a time, a fairytale, as exciting and thrilling these enthrals once was, when they were all in for that Bonnie and Clyde verity without all the killing and thieving and robbing aspect, now it's more of a worry when she's relying on him to put food on the table and formula in Milo's bottle.

She crosses West 14th and makes the left turn a little too quickly that the car skids along the patch of ice she hadn't spied until it was too late. The roads here haven't been gritted ( _nobody gives much of a shit about that on this side of Manhattan._ ) and so she takes her foot off the gas just a little because as much as they need to get this guy inside, she needs to do it without drawing any further attention to themselves.

Without warning, she hears an audible crack and a grunt and a strangled scream escapes her mouth as she watches this guy's head slump forward.

"Wh-what did-?"

"Shut up!" he urges, pulling his gun away from the face of the guy beside him. "Last thing we need is for him to see where he's going."

 _Okay_. But he didn't have to pistol whack him in the head like that.

She knows it should be a comfort that he's going to be out cold when they pull up at the house but she also knows he's going to be a dead weight and Damon's big, granted, but he's not going to be able to drag him up onto the porch and into the house without her help.

She makes the right onto their street and slows the car gently so it doesn't slide into the wall of the house. Last thing she needs is to wake Milo.

"Unlock the door," he instructs. "Prop the door to the basement open."

"I need to check on Milo first." she tells him, but his face sours and then, she knows that was the wrong thing to say.

"He'll be fine for another five fucking minutes, Addie."

She tries not to wince at his words, tries ( _and fails miserably_.) not to feel her stomach drop when he talks about their child like he isn't the most precious thing in their lives, because deep down and as much as she wants him to, she knows he doesn't feel for Milo what she feels. Knows that as much as he loves his son, he isn't _in love_ with what they've created together.

Love keeps making you do stupid things and maybe bringing a child into _their_ _kind_ of world is one of them.

She'd like to believe it isn't. But Archer's voice rings in her ear, telling her that this time, she've officially lost it, that he can't continue to pretend that he's okay with the decisions she keeps making when he never was okay to begin with.

 _You gave up everything for that piece of shit, Addie. Your life. Your education. Your family. You picked him over us. And, tell me this, what has he done for you other than knock you up?_

Her brother's probably right. She brought shame to the Montgomery name.

She misses him.

"Okay. Yeah." she nods and exits the car but they both know she'll stop by his crib, smooth the dark curls of his hair to settle him down even if he doesn't stir.

And she does.

She unlocks the front door and makes her way upstairs quickly, inching the door to Milo's room open so the fraction of light from the hallway enables her to see that he's safe and still sleeping soundly like Damon said he'd be.

After propping open the basement door and then remembering to turn the lights on so they don't trip down the stairs, she heads back out to the car where Damon's standing by the back door with a fistful of the guy's t-shirt.

"Stand on the other side." he tells her, "Take his other arm once I've got him out."

By the time they've got him up the porch steps, the neat scar across the bottom of her stomach is protesting at the strain but she knows they have to get him inside before she can even consider a rest.

When they do, he looks at her, must have sense her discomfort and tells her to find something to tie the guy to the radiator with.

She's rummaging through the cupboard for some sort of wire she thinks she saw the other week, when she hears a series of almighty thuds.

 _Shit!_

She closes her eyes as bile rises in her throat because as much as she doesn't want to acknowledge it as such, she knows the noise was the result of the guy being thrown down the stairs to the basement.

Next, she waits for Milo's cries to echo because she knows he's heard it too, tells herself she has to go to Damon with the wire before she can comfort their son, and so once she's found what she rummaging for, she all but runs down the stairs herself.

"No rope?" he asks when she hands him the wire.

"That's all I could find."

"It'll do for tonight."

"I can go to the store in the morning." she offers, then wishes she hadn't as Milo's cries grew louder.

Damon seems to acknowledge that she needs to quiet the baby and nods at her to go back upstairs, dragging the guy's body over to the radiator on the far wall.

She's shushing Milo when she hears the light to the basement click off and the door close. Her hold on him tightens, a subconscious attempt to comfort herself just as much as she's comforting him she supposes, although it doesn't work - not that she'd expected it to.

"C'mon little man," she whispers, "You're okay. You're safe."

She feels like a fraud at those words because she knows none of them are safe now - not really - because however this situation ends, it's not going to be good for either one.

Not for her. Definitely not for Damon. And their son's collateral damage because he has criminals as parents.

He's the innocent one, the purest in all this, but he'll be the one with the harshest punishment.

There's a rattle from the kitchen, the refrigerator door opening and closing again, and she breathes kisses into her son's hair, takes from it that delicious sweet scent of milk and baby powder before laying him back down in his crib. She keeps a hand on his back, rubbing gently up and down until he drifts back off again, and then stays for a few more minutes to get her breath right, prepares herself as best she can for whatever plan Damon's formulating downstairs.

He's leaning against the counter when she enters the kitchen, tipping the bottle of Busch against his lips and draining the contents. She doesn't say anything, just stands against the frame between that room and the livingroom, her hands pressed into the wood.

"They're going to notice him missing." he announces in a tone that lets her know just how fucked they are in all of this.

"Who?"

 _What is he talking about?_

"Family. Friends. He's a student. Someone's gonna notice. He has people who's gonna miss him, Addie. "

 _Not like us,_ she adds for herself.

Sometimes she forgets not everyone is like them.

 _Unknown._

With them, no one is ever going to even notice or care and that scares her, because Milo would have nobody else.

Her skin flames and pricks with beads of sweat. "You sure? What makes you think that?" It seems such a stupid question to ask and yet here she is, letting the words spill from her lips regardless.

He tosses something towards her and she misses it, the thing landing at her feet and distinguishing itself as a wallet. She bends to pick it up, unfolding the leather and taking in the distinctive smell of cinnamon and mint.

The picture catches her eye first and her heart twists at the conundrum.

Happy, carefree, toothy smiles - oh, how she misses curling her lips in a grin just like that. But it's been too long since then and she thinks her facial muscles can no longer soften like that.

It's a village of smiles by a fireplace, all girls, looking almost similar, sisters she suspects, and a familiar face but not so because the guy they have downstairs is swollen and broken.

They did that to him.

She thinks of the last Christmas she had with her family before all this began. She was still miserable then, but what she can say is that she was happier.

 _Well, happier than she is now._

There's a student card that almost - just almost tells her to beg him to let him go ( _Columbia University of_ _Physicians_ _and Surgeons. That was her dream school._ ) and a driver's licence and she looks at it carefully, tracing the words with her fingertips.

"Derek Christopher Shepherd," she says softly, looking at the image beside the information. "His address doesn't match."

"That's because it was his friend's place."

 _What?_

"So, why'd you bring _him_ here?" her voice quivers in frustration.

 _How much more stupid can he be?_

"Addison, use your head. See, so, I can use him as leverage to get paid. Tit for tat. Then, I'll kill him."

"But why don't you just kill him? Why bring him here?"

"Because - haven't you been listening? Killing him right now doesn't get me paid. When I get the money, _then_ I'll do it."

She can't help but feel like this would be a small loss, this couple of hundred dollars, like it'd be a small price to pay for not keeping someone tied up in the basement while your child sleeps upstairs.

"How are you going to get the money?" she asks, needing his answers because she sure as hell can't see how this is going to work out.

 _What makes him think that this friend would even care?_

"Demand it off his friend."

"His friend?"

Damon sighs like he's sick of having to explain things to her. "It was his friend's place. His friend owes me the money. He wasn't there but _this guy_ was."

"Derek." she says almost defiantly.

"What?"

"His name is Derek."

He looks confused for a moment, like he's not sure why their conversation's taken a slight turn, but he chooses to ignore it and Addison decides not to bring it up again.

Damon's going to do what Damon's going to do and she's along for the ride whether she likes it or not.

"You want a beer?" he asks, crossing to the refrigerator for his second bottle but she shakes her head. She's foggy and tired enough from the whiskey earlier, and the last thing they need is to both be out cold when Derek wakes and starts making all kinds of noise to alert the neighbours.

She shakes her head and he shrugs. "Suit yourself."

Instead, she flicks on the coffee machine so she doesn't have to work quite so hard to fight sleep. Her limbs protest at the movement but eventually the water begins to drip through the filter and the smell begins to stir her senses enough that not every blink is quite so difficult.

Later, when Damon's sinking something like his sixth or seventh beer and she's on coffee mug number three, there's an almighty bang from down in the basement. She looks towards him but already knows it's going to be her that goes down there - his eyes are glazed and she knows he's going to be unsteady on his feet, and so she rises from the couch, suppressing the sigh that's threatening to escape.

She clicks the light on first, waits the seemingly endless period of time where the light jumps on and off again repeatedly until it finally stays on and she can head down the stairs.

"Hey." she hisses at him, "Shut up!"

The guy doesn't seem to get her memo though, and continues thrashing around, testing the strength of the wire which doesn't look like it'll hold too well if he keeps it up.

She repeats her words, voice a little louder and a little more aggressive, but he still doesn't stop his movements. He sounds pained: breathing ragged and laboured and it's only when Addison inches just a little closer that she realises he's not fully-present.

He looks panicked.

In body, he is of course, but his mind has to be somewhere else, she figures. That being said, he's currently being held in a basement so she supposes maybe his mind has retreated somewhere else. Somewhere else though that's not possibly worse than this.

"Shepherd!" she says, even louder still as she kicks the bottom of his left boot with her own. It appears to do the trick and his head snaps up in her direction revealing bloodshot eyes and agony etched into his forehead. She swallows, feeling her stomach lurch as she watches him take in his surroundings and realise where he is.

"Would please stop making so much noise."

He just stares at her like she's speaking a foreign language and he looks so much like a small child in that moment that she even considers untying him, telling him to run and not look back. But she can't do that of course - can't even _attempt_ to clean up this mess that Damon has created for them because it's _always_ going to come back and bite them.

Jail she could take, she figures.

Damon going to jail, she could cope with - it's not like it would be the first time - but leaving Milo? That would break her, and so she silently chides herself for even thinking about the man in front of her as a person.

It's not going to help anyone.

"What does he think he's going to get from keeping me down here?" Derek finally says, his voice rough and scratchy.

Addison clamps her mouth closed, refusing without words to be drawn into conversation with him.

"He's going to kill me?"

Again, she remains stoic, absently running her fingers along her arms. It's damn near freezing down in that basement and she doesn't miss the fact he's only wearing jeans and a t-shirt. He's got to be even colder than she is. Still, she figures it won't matter much anyway after a few days or whenever it is that Damon decides to end this situation.

"Stay quiet." is all she says before turning to leave. She's almost at the top of the stairs when he calls out to her.

"If he's going to kill me anyway, why does it even matter?"

She clicks off the light and shuts the door without an answer.

By the time she returns to the livingroom, Damon's near to passed out and she seriously considers running.

Packing a bag upstairs quickly, grabbing Milo and the car and driving until the gas runs out.

She wants to go home to Connecticut.

But the practicalities of it all keep her firmly in this house; there's nowhere to run to, no one to seek out to - not without money at least - and Damon's never given her any more than what she needs for diapers and formula and other essentials along those lines.

She wants to go to bed. Wants so desperately to stretch out beneath the sheets, drift off and then wake up to realise this was simply a vivid nightmare, and yet she knows it isn't possible. They can't both possibly sleep at the same time - not without a lock on that basement door at least - and it's obvious that Damon's not going to be the one on watch tonight.

Looking at the man now passed out on the couch, she makes her way to the kitchen, and more specifically, to the drawer next to the refrigerator. She takes out the 9mm Glock and turns it over in her hands, dusting her forefinger over the trigger. It's heavier than she remembers - it's not often she's had it in her hands but ever since the day she had the barrel of a gun pressed up against her own cheek, she's made target practice a priority. When Milo came along, it was the one thing she made Damon get for her.

She carries it upstairs with her towards the room where he's sleeping, puts it down on the changing table while she lifts him from the crib, careful not to jostle and wake him. He barely stirs, just nuzzles his head against her chest somewhat subconsciously, and she feels such a rush of love for him in that moment that it's almost overwhelming. Nobody had told her much about what to expect about having a kid.

Mountains of dirty diapers - sure - an endless drain on money you don't have, a constant interruption of sleep, but never this. Nobody has ever said she'd feel so incredibly protective and afraid - always afraid that someone or something might come and steal him from her. Milo came with the question of why Bizzy clearly hadn't felt the same towards her and her brother; why it had been so easy for her to walk away without a second glance, why hadn't she tried stopping the Captain from throwing her out of the house that night, why hadn't she made any effort as a mother to check up on her.

Just a visit is all she wants.

She breathes a kiss into his dark curls and grabs the blanket from his crib, draping it over him before picking the gun back up and heading back downstairs. She settles on the couch next to Damon, Milo snuggled in against her chest in his red pyjamas, his tiny eyelids flickering with the indication of a dream. She hopes it's a good one, hopes that his world - especially in sleep - will always remain safe and happy.

The gun stays by her side in case Derek manages to break free of the wire binding his wrists to the radiator. She hopes more than anything it won't come to that, but she knows if she needs to keep her son safe, she won't hesitate in cocking that gun and pulling the trigger.

* * *

Dawn breaks weakly, the sun barely stuttering out enough light for the streetlamps to turn off, and before long it's snowing again. She feeds her son, changes him and dresses him warmly enough that they can go to the store for cable wires and ropes without him catching a cold, all with the gun by her side.

He smiles when she bounces him, squeals and giggles at the raspberry she blows against his stomach while he's lying on the changing table, and protests with only minimal fuss when she tries to force his arms inside of the snowsuit.

By the time she comes downstairs, Damon's waking groggily and so she flicks on the coffee machine, Milo balanced on her hip so she can wrap the scarf around his neck to hold the hood of his snowsuit over his head.

"I'll head to the hardware store," she says flatly. "Get some rope and cable wires."

Damon runs a hand over his face and nods.

"I'm going to need some money."

"There's money in his wallet. Take it from there." he tells her, groaning as he rises from the couch. She does as Damon instructs, slipping the two twenties into her pocket and then adding a couple tens too - just in case. Maybe she should take it all but there's something stopping her; a warped sense of right and wrong, maybe, whispers of a conscience fighting its way to the surface.

She almost leaves without asking the question, but the words manage to fight their way out of her mouth.

"What are you going to do?"

"I'll figure it out."

And yet, she's almost certain he won't. That blind faith she had in him back when she was a teenager and looking for any kind of guidance and love he was willing to give, have slipped away over the years, since eroded by the increasing evidence that he's calculating, yes, but not calculating _enough_.

Not clever _enough_.

Not good _enough_.

Not worthy _enough_.

He is never _enough_.

But there's no turning back time now.

"Okay." she tells him, because it's much easier than _we're screwed_.

She buys the rope and cable wires with Milo's innocent eyes watching her movements, watching as she becomes even more complicit in this kidnap-slash-hostage situation. She wonders whether this will become something that will screw him up later in life - one of those childhood experiences you don't necessarily remember but that is stored in your subconscious so you end up conditioned to act in a certain way. And if it doesn't, Addison decides, she's certain she'll screw him up eventually anyway, because _who is she kidding?_

Love alone will never be enough to ensure he'll have a good life.

The snow doesn't let up for the journey back, nor does it cease when she reaches the house and closes the door to the freezing air.

She hands Damon the supplies first and then proceeds to unbundle Milo from his snowsuit, setting him in the little pen in the corner of the room so she can take off her own coat.

"You'll have to buy the lock," she says. "It would've looked suspicious if I got it with all these stuff." she gestures to the bag.

"Uh, yeah." he agrees, like he hadn't even thought of it, and that's what worries her more than anything - the lack of planning. Like when they would lie on the hood of her car and talk about their future like they had a clue.

Five years later, she's here, nowhere, with a boyfriend who works for she-doesn't-ever-want-to-know-who for a living, a baby she can't support on her own and the life she always hears as story and says she'll never have.

"I'll head out later."

She nods and stifles a yawn. It's approaching thirty hours that she's been awake now and she knows there'll be at least another couple more before she can get some much needed sleep.

"I'll go re-tie him. Bring the gun."

She does as he says and they head down into the basement together. Derek's watching them as they descend, his eyes showing that he, too, has had minimal - if any - sleep in the past day. There are bruises rising on his skin - purples and greens and yellows littering his arms to display the results of being half-thrown down the stairs last night.

"Stay still," Damon instructs him. "She'll fire if you try to make a run for it."

Derek focuses his attention on her then, and she feels her skin burn under his stare. His eyes, the bluest ocean, fixes on her finger - the one that's resting on the trigger - and she wills it not to shake, not to betray the hammering of her heart.

She have never, herself, gotten into anything this illegal before. Never to this extent.

She stares at him and is almost certain she sees his lips twitch - not a smile ( _barely a hint of one, really_.) - but it's enough of a movement to register in her sleep-deprived brain.

His eyes returns back to hers and she swears there's something in them that isn't the hate there ought to be - a plea, maybe, or hope that she'll be the one to rectify all of this. And so she takes a step closer to him, angles the gun just a tad little to the left so it's pointing right between his eyes now.

She isn't weak, and she won't allow him to think that she is.

Derek doesn't move when Damon secures the first cable wire around his wrist, nor does he when the second one is secured. And when Damon binds his feet together with a rope, she mentally notes the way his breathing increases, then grows shallower. It's a small victory, she supposes - noticing tiny details like this.

The rope and her gun are triggers of sorts for him and she can use that to her advantage if needed be, and yet for some reason she tells herself it's information for her, not Damon.

He starts to head back upstairs and she notes the fact that he hasn't removed the original wire that was binding Derek's hands to the radiator.

"Aren't you going to take the old ones off?" she asks, instantly regretting her words.

His face darkens but he seems to consider it for a moment. She's only thinking of the what-ifs, there isn't any hidden meaning behind her question.

 _What if he somehow breaks free of the rope and the cable wires?_

 _What if he uses the wire as something to strangle them with?_

But then she realises, too, that it's a signal to Derek that if there is a plan here, it hasn't been fully communicated.

It's her first error, she knows, one that she'll pay for on several accounts to come.

And then she hears a noise. It's only faint, but her ears are already so attuned to the sound of Milo's cries. She tries not to draw any attention to it, creates more noise than she usually would as Damon decides against untying the wire and they head back up the stairs, but this guy has got brains.

 _An even more complex labyrinth of tunnels and chambers_ _just because he's a medical student._

If she's thinking it, then he's most definitely thinking it too.

She's almost certainly he's already picked up the tiny details here and there - honing in on them so that what might be considered a snippet of information to some, becomes the nail to their coffin for them.

"Get some sleep." he tells her once they're back in the livingroom and she's comforting a teary baby. "I'll watch him."

Suddenly, she's overcome with a desperate need to stay awake. To spend every last minute with her son. "It's okay."

"Addie, we can't both be asleep at the same time. If _you're_ tired, _you'll_ slip up."

She rages silently at that. At the suggestion that _she'll_ be the one to bring about the inevitable awful end to all of this. And yet, she knows he's right, and she can't risk Milo being hurt, so she hands him to his dad before dropping a kiss to his crown.

Her bed, unsurprisingly, isn't the comforting haven she needs. It's cold without Damon there to warm her up, and the room's too bright, even in the pathetic excuse for daylight.

Every time her eyes closes, it's a different image, but each equally as haunting as the last; Damon whacking Derek with the barrel of his gun; him tumbling down the stairs into the basement; the bruises on his arms and face; Milo's innocent stare as she bought the supplies at the hardware store; the raw redness of Derek's blue eyes; her own shaking finger poised over the trigger.

If anything, her bed and the fitful almost-sleep it's bringing, is hell.

* * *

 ** _Hey guys! Thanks so much for reading! What do you think of this world for Addison and Derek? I'd love to know your thoughts!_**

 ** _I'll be continuing this story here if you guys want me to._**

 ** _REVIEW!_**


	13. Chapter 13 - Alea Iacta Est

**_Addison and Derek going through a tragedy. More Addek Angst. . . ._**

* * *

 **Alea Iacta Est**

 _ **(The die is cast)**_

 _. . .Pain looks great on other people. . ._

* * *

It is a deep, knotted and unbeknownst feeling that has settled within his chest.

It doesn't overwhelm him, actually, doesn't breathe him in, doesn't have him grasping at the aged sand minuscules below him in overwhelming agony.

It doesn't force his palms to curl, to have crescents bleeding into his flesh, fingernails crying, screaming red as his skin numbs with the hurt.

It doesn't tear at his hair, doesn't leave wet trails down his cheeks, doesn't reveal fist-shaped bruises at his chest, doesn't claw at his eyes with crimson-coloured fingernails, crimson-coloured fingernails that had once danced across his jaw with what he would deem as ... reverence.

It is just deep, and it is just unknown, and it sinks into his flesh like a coat of skin, a coat of glittering pale skin, the coat of a newborn child.

It takes every bit of his strength to breathe.

The night tide rushes up to his toes, bathing him in the sensation of ice as sand grains grasp to the skin, grasp to his skin like a plump red mouth to sweat-soaked flesh on a cool summer night.

* * *

 _"Erin." she whispers easily against his lips._

 _He smiles warmly, an action unconsciously frequented over the past several years, the pads of his fingers pausing their slow trek over the material of her blouse. His eyelids remain blissfully shut, the dreamy mist of the ocean lulling his senses to a sweetened dull._

 _"Aurora." he speaks against her lips._

 _His back is against the sand, and she, atop of him, a few feet away from the dampened surface where the tide had rushed in, midnight black against the sparkling specks from heaven._

 _She seems to consider it for a moment, and he is sure her eyebrows are furrowed in deep thought, before she replies._

 _"Catalina."_

 _"Hope." he replies, the name, the word foreign to his lips, and, to hers, as well._

 _He feels her lips pull away, feels her fingers rest against his cheekbones. When his lids slowly slide open, he catches sight of her affectionate smile, dark eyes brilliant even among the moon-lit beach around them._

 _"Aurora Hope Shepherd." she speaks softly and slowly, testing the name to her tongue. "I think it's sort of beautiful."_

 _He smirks, fingers moving from the curve of her waist to bury themselves in the floating curls at her back. Even with the years that had passed, his fascination with the spun silk had only seemed to grow in intensity._

 _"Like that princess from the fairy tale."_

 _A small smile graces her lips; her head rests against his chest, ear pressed to the heartbeat below her, fingers tracing unshaped patterns against the sand beside her._

 _"She'll have everything she needs."_

 _He presses a firm kiss to the top of her head, keeping his lips against the silken strands. "She won't want anything in the world."_

 _It is the silence that binds them, even with the gentle protruding of her belly that keeps them apart._

* * *

His toes dig deeper into the sand, a whisper of a sound against his skin, a whisper of a promise he believes in so strongly, one that he would travel to his grave for it.

* * *

 _"Are you gonna be up much longer?"_

 _He glances up from the blinding row of blackened digits before him, catching sight of her body leaning against the open doorway to his office._

 _Slowly, he stands, feeling the exhaustion of the past few weeks settle easily against his shoulders. He mentally shrugs the excess weight off and lifts his rolled cuffs even further up his arms, moving to stand in front of her before he kneels._

 _His fingers find the smooth buttons of his shirt, flicking the last several open._

 _His lips settle to the supple skin of her abdomen, roaming over the clearly evident bump that ended right above her panty line. He breathes the scent of her vanilla moisturiser before he presses the softest kiss against her skin._

 _And, even though the bump is barely there, and it would be deemed impossible, he swears he feels something, swears he feels the tiniest sliver of life beneath his lips._

 _He fixes the buttons of his nightshirt and, at her gentle urging, stands before her._

 _"Did you take your vitamins?" he questions slowly, with a hint of concern he tries so desperately to conceal._

 _Her hands run over the rampant strands of his hair, nodding slowly before she settles her arms against his shoulders._

 _Her feet are bare, she wears no makeup, and her hair has been brushed away from her face, the only clothing she wears being his shirt and a pair of cotton panties._

 _And he whispers into her ear, he whispers and swears and pleads with her to believe that she has never looked more beautiful._

* * *

His eyes glance upward to the pattern of stars above him, a pattern of stars so bright and brilliant, bright and brilliant like the sight of endless crimson against an ashen surface.

* * *

 _It is her scream that awakens him._

 _He jolts upward, papers fluttering around him from their otherwise organised state._

 _It seems as if an eternity has pass before he finally reaches their bedroom. He was running. He swear he was._

 _And it is the streaks of red that stops him, the bold streaks of dark red flooding the sheets below her, as she kneels atop the bedcovers, hands pressed firmly between her thighs._

 _She's crying and screaming, and yet he hears none of it._

 _All he sees, feels, smells is the pounds of crimson pouring over her hands, like silken rose petals raining atop her head on a hot summer afternoon._

 _And he steps forward and lifts her gently, even as she screams and claws at him, her liquid red hands grasping at the sodden sheets._

 _She curses him, cries a child's name, screams her sorrow, and he remains deaf to her shrieks._

 _She won't let go of the fabric, and he's sure she's screaming, but he's not certain, because all he can focus on is getting her away from the bloodied covers._

 _When he finally has her within his grasp again, she turns promptly and claws at his face with red fingernails until he is forced to release her. She crawls over the wet sheets and presses her cheek against the stained colour, lips chanting underused prayers she had learned as a child, body small and rocking slowly against the vast lake of red surrounding her._

 _When he tears her away again and holds her against his chest, he finally hears the crushing sobs that have devastated her, and he realises that the sight of blood may have a sound._

* * *

In the distance, a baby cries, a child laughs, and the cool salt air whips at his face, cool salted droplets falling against his cheeks like a mother's teardrops.

* * *

 _He begins to understand that disorientation must render him damn useless, because New York City is a heaven of yellow cabs, and yet he's sprinting to the hospital._

 _His legs, which have never even fathomed physical exercise, won't stop as he grips her quivering and wailing body within his arms, wind whipping at his hair as he runs to the building. He tries to fathom her words, tries to ignore the cries of shock-faced citizens of his city, tries to disregard the quick flashes of dazed passers, tries to be somewhat of a useful being._

* * *

It suddenly gets colder beneath his back; a frigid, endless frost, a frigid endless frost that makes it impossible to breathe.

* * *

 _When they finally reach the hospital, he breathes her name against her lips, presses a firm kiss against the surface, as the doctors pull her away from his tight grasp and ease her atop a gurney. He winces at the sight of his nightshirt engulfed in oxidesed red, winces at the sound of her whimpering figure trembling against the whitened surface, winces as he catches sight of her guilt-ridden blues before the doors shut closed._

 _He doesn't even fathom the realisation that the entirety of his front surface is drenched in the blood of his wife, and the blood of his unborn child._

 _All he knows, all he realises, is that her lips have never felt colder._

* * *

His fingers run over the crinkled surface of the lone pack of cigarettes, temporary sticks of simple relief that just seem to make the screams go away.

* * *

 _The clock ticks._

 _The clock ticks against a silent background of an office._

 _An aged, balding man with round spectacles at the end of his nose peers over at him with slightly crinkled eyes._

 _Dr. ... Something, he can't even remember his colleague's name._

 _"Do it."_

 _The man audibly takes a long breath, presses his eyes shut before he reopens them after a few tender moments._

 _Derek, a man thought to never have experienced the engulfing pain of exhaustion, sits before him, his elbows braced against his thighs as he leans over and presses his palms to his eyes, face hidden from view._

 _The doctor pulls off his spectacles, rubs the fatigue from his eyes, before replacing them and speaking slowly. "Dr. Shepherd, I strongly urge you to consider the life of-"_

 _Derek sends his chair sprawling to the other side of the room and grabs at the man's coat, pulling the doctor's feet off the ground in one fluid motion._

 _"I said, fucking do it."_

* * *

His fingers toss the small plastic bit into his mouth before he washes the substance with water, the material lodging in his throat, lodging in his throat like the depravity of disturbing sobs.

* * *

 _"Why did you_ do _this to me?" she cries softly, body rocking slowly, ashen palms digging against the bar of her hospital bed, and he is sure that she will draw blood._

 _And he wants the blood to stay in, wants it to beat into her veins, wants everything that he did to actually mean for something._

 _She won't meet his face, her wavering body grasping for any semblance of control against the metal surface._

 _Her feet are bare, she wears no makeup, and her hair has been brushed away from her face, the only clothing she wears being a hospital gown and a pair of cotton panties._

 _And he wants to whisper, he wants to whisper and swear and plead with her to believe that she has never looked more beautiful._

 _He moves forward, unable to utter a word, but simply places his hand against her shoulder._

 _"Why did you_ have _to_ do _this to me?" she shrieks, yanking her body away from his touch, her eyes wild and her teeth bared as her fists begin to beat at his chest._

 _He holds her close, allowing her punches to run rampant, in a somewhat staccato rhythm, just in an attempt to be close to her again. She tears at his hair, beats at his chest, and pushes him away before she backs away slowly, her eyes flaming._

 _She painfully moans, one arm grabbing at her stitched-up abdomen as she bends forward a bit, mouth set in a grim line. He immediately moves forward, but she holds out her arm._

 _"No!" she screams at him with a threat, her other arm still at her belly as she backs away even more slowly than before. When another angry streak runs through her body, she hisses even more tightly, body bending forward even more than before, as she moves away from him._

 _"You did this to me. I can't. I am ..."_

 _She can't say it out loud. He doesn't want to hear her say it too._ Barren _, she thinks and screams loudly within._

 _But he was saying her life. He saved her._

 _She can't ever have children of her own._

 _She bawls at him to stay away as she grimaces even more, but when he sees the tears pressed at the corners of her lids, he cannot be prevented._

 _He paces forward quickly, grabbing her middle, as she yells to be released. He wraps his arms around her, presses his nose into her hair._

 _She's crying and panting and most definitely in pain, and he whispers his apologies, soft murmurs against her ear, until, finally, all that is left are her tears._

 _And they fall to the ground below them, legs sprawled everywhere, as their hands refuse to part from the place at her belly._

* * *

He smokes a cigarette, a second, a third, a fourth, and a fifth, before he realizes his cheeks are wet.

* * *

 _He returns when the doctors have stabilised her, when they have assured him that the procedure had been done correctly. Her back faces the doorway, her form looking out over the moon-lit garden outside of the hospital room._

 _He drags a chair and settles it right before her eyes. He places the fuzzy teddy bear right beside her, a silly toy he had found in the hospital gift shop while the nurses had been in with her._

 _It had been either that or the collection of stuffed animals in a basket, and the teddy bear's sad eyes had reached out to him._

 _He moves to place her arm around the lovely creature in a gentle manner, but the minute his fingers touch her skin, she pulls away, like liquid fire had been burning at the pale flesh._

 _And his breath lodges in his throat, and he becomes desperate. He grasps at her hand and presses her ice fingers against his lips._

 _"Addie, we can adopt." he murmurs against her fingers, his voice taking on a hint of apprehension, a hint of fear, a hint of something he has actually never felt before. "We can still have a baby."_

 _She doesn't speak, her eyes staring out over the moon-lit garden his form hadn't wanted to cover. "Addison," he pleads, a shudder overcoming his voice. "Addie, please."_

 _But she remains mute. Her eyes remain still and unmoving, and her hand is loose in his grasp._

 _He presses her fingers to the corner of his eyelids, watching her reaction as his tears wash over her fingers. Her stoic expression only drives his desperation further, more tears induced to fall and more heartbreaking sobs released from his throat. He presses frantic kisses against the skin of her palm, pushes his wet lashes against her cheek, whimpers his frantic apologies against her skin._

 _But she can only see the pink mass being pulled from between her legs, can only hear her own frantic shrieks, can only taste the metallic blood inside her mouth._

* * *

It is a deep, knotted and unbeknownst feeling that has settled within his chest.

It doesn't overwhelm him, actually, doesn't breathe him in, doesn't have him grasping at the aged sand minuscules below him in overwhelming agony.

It doesn't force his palms to curl, to have crescents bleeding into his flesh, fingernails crying, screaming red as his skin numbs with the hurt.

It doesn't tear at his hair, doesn't leave wet trails down his cheeks, doesn't reveal fist-shaped bruises at his chest, doesn't claw at his eyes with crimson-coloured fingernails, crimson-coloured fingernails that had once danced across his jaw with what he would deem as ... reverence.

It is just deep, and it is just unknown, and it sinks into his flesh like a coat of skin, a coat of glittering pale skin, the coat of a newborn child.

It takes every bit of his and her strength to breathe.

* * *

 _ **Another angsty angst story. I'm staring to think that this book should be called Addek Angst or something like that because almost all of the stories here are just damn depressing. :)**_

 _ **What do you think of this?**_

 _ **Leave a REVIEW! And I hope you enjoyed (well, as much as that's possible considering the topic of the chapter.)!**_


	14. Chapter 14 - I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa

**_Christmas Addek fluff. If times were different, happy and dappy. Set in the same universe as Chapter 7 - Cookie Monster. . . ._**

* * *

 **I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus**

* * *

"Mommy _Add'son_ _Ad'anne_ Shepherd! You got some 'splainin' to do!"

Addison flinches, pushes on red velvet chest as she attempts to hurry out of limbs over limbs and heat and cologne, the angry little voice still ringing across the entire living room, accompanied by stomping of small feet down the steps. She sees tiny arms being folded forbiddingly over an equally tiny chest, and two little bright blue eyes narrow in accusation.

They look familiar.

"Aurora! I - I - It's not -" she exclaims, stuttering through her words while shooting anxious glances at the man beside her.

 _It's not what it looks like?_

For a second there, Dr. Addison Shepherd, Head of OB/GYN and Neonatal Surgery, the Meryl Streep of Maternal-Fetal Medicine _(that's what the magazines are calling her now)_ and veteran of hundreds of births, if not, thousands, and fetal surgeries, almost, _almost_ felt cowed to speak truth - like a guilty teenager caught in the act of rebellion.

Like that one time when she was caught _kissing_... and amongst other indiscretions, James Van Der Beek under the bleachers by the school security, which resulted in their parents getting called into the Headmaster's Office to discuss possible repercussions _(which in preparatory school terms means hefty donations for a certain swimming pool and expansion of a certain library)._

But, but - _wait a minute, she's the mother here, her mother, she's the one with the authority_ \- so she rallies, summoning a narrow-eyed glare of her own. No wonder her daughter's look of death looks oh-so familiar. "You're supposed to be in bed, Aurora."

"But you're 'upposed to not be kissin' Santa!" her daughter retorts angrily, with _Hugsy_ , her stuffed penguin, tucked under her arm, and reaching the bottom of the stairs, advancing across the room towards the transgressors, a fearsome scowl twisting her features. "Only kissin' Daddy! Not Santa!" she repeats for emphasis.

 _Wow, the little beast does have answers for everything. Well, she didn't get that trait from her, she will say that for certain._

She swallows, looking sideways again at the tall man in the red suit and bushy white beard. "Well, I can -"

 _I can explain. I know that's what people say. I know that's what get said._

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty," the man interrupts, his eyes twinkling at the child as he surreptitiously shoves the sprig of mistletoe into his pocket and lowers his voice to a stage-whisper and asks, "Can I tell you a secret?"

The little girl's expression doesn't budge, but she undoubtedly takes a step closer. Her daughter, Aurora Solenn Shepherd, cannot resist a secret.

"What kinda secret?" she asks suspiciously.

The man in the red suit drops into a crouch, gesturing her closer. She cast a quick look up at her mother, who nods encouragingly with a wave of a hand, and takes another step, then another.

"Don't get mad, okay," the man says earnestly, "but the thing is, see, I'm not really actually Santa."

"You're not?" the child peers at his face, her anger subsumes into curiosity. "You look jus' like him," she looks down at the stuffed penguin, whom she's been holding by the wing and nods in agreement. "Hugsy _tinks_ so too because you have the Santa beard."

"I know and Hugsy, over here, has a point." The man nods and taps the penguin on the beek. "See, Santa let me borrow his costu - uh, I mean, his suit. His clothes. Because he's so busy tonight, you know? Delivering allllll those toys to all the kids everywhere?"

"It takes allllll night," Aurora puts in with a wise nod and Hugsy, again, nods in succession. Addison bites the inside of her cheeks, struggling to keep a straight face.

"Yeah, it takes all night," the man agrees. "So since Santa is too busy reading stories to the sick kids at the hospital, I said _, "Let me have your red suit, Santa, and I'll go read the stories too, so kids everywhere can have their presents on time for Christmas morning. Okay?"_ "

He reaches up to his face, moving very slowly, making sure that Aurora is watching.

And she is.

"See."

Her bright blue eyes are riveted as he detaches the fake beard and carefully peels it away.

The loud, dramatic gasp that escapes Aurora's lips almost made Addison choke on her own tongue. Oh, how she wishes she had her phone out to capture this moment. She bites her lip, hard, and stifles the laughter that bubbles up her throat.

"Daddy?" the little girl breathes, her expression a picture of pure astonishment as she turns from her dad to Hugsy, who for some reason looks surprised too.

"It's me, Beauty," he confirms, holding out his arms for a hug. Aurora melts into him with Hugsy in between, but immediately pulls back, a strange look on her face.

" _Dat_ your belly?" she asks in confusion, patting his midsection.

He grins, ruffling her hair with one hand.

"It's a pretend belly, sweetheart. Daddy's not quite as chubby as the real Santa, is he?"

Aurora shook her head, but her little face is suddenly, and all too quickly, she must add, scrunched up in thought, so Addison hasten to intervene before her daughter's clever mind could start making connections.

"Come on, Princess, let's get you and _Hugsy_ back to bed," she says, lifting the child against her hip, "Daddy will be up in a minute to tuck you back in."

"Hugsy too, Mommy." she whispers, patting her little palm to her cheek.

"Of course. Hugsy too." she says as she looks back at her husband, who seems to have taken the hint and he swiftly disappears into their bedroom while she goes up the stairs with Aurora and Hugsy.

The righteous indignation that had sustained Aurora throughout her dramatic entrance gave way to exhaustion, and the little girl now is slumping bonelessly on her mother's shoulder.

It had been difficult to get her to sleep a couple of hours ago, the excitement of Christmas Eve making her manic, but this time there is barely a peep of movement as she settles her daughter back into bed with Hugsy tucked warmly next to her, pulling up the covers over her slender shoulders.

"Sleep, baby. Santa can't come deliver your presents until you're asleep," she murmurs.

Aurora's eyes are already closed, her breathing beginning to even out as she brush a kiss to her forehead and withdrew.

Derek appears in the doorway, having hastily divested himself of the top part of the Santa costume - the wig, hat, coat, and fake stomach - though he still has the red pants and shiny black boots on. "Out already?" he whispers.

"Hopefully for good this time," she whispers back. He nods, slipping into the room to place his own kiss on their daughter's pudgy cheek before they both slip back out again, pulling the door shut and moving quietly back down the stairs.

"Good save there, _Santa_ ," Addison comments as they reach the living room. "That was a close one." she glares at him, before adding, "If someone hadn't been so eager to take advantage of the _mistletoe_ ..."

"How was I to know she'd wake up?" Derek protests. "And besides, I didn't hear you complaining about a little Santa/Mrs. Claus roleplay," he adds with a smirk.

She huffs, a slight flush spreading across her cheeks - she can't tell a lie. "Well, let's just hope she doesn't start thinking too hard and figure out where the presents really come from."

"Yeah, she's much too young for that." he agrees. "If we're lucky, she'll just think it was all a dream or something." he pauses, thoughtful. "Although, if she really believes that I know Santa personally, that would definitely be an asset for my cool dad status."

"Your cool dad status doesn't need any more help, Derek," Addison replies with a roll of her eyes. "She already thinks you hung the moon and the stars. I'm the one who's in trouble here - if she remembers catching me kissing some strange guy! God, Derek, she'll hate me."

"True," he muses with a twinkle in his eye. "You certainly were in the doghouse for a minute there. Good thing your favourite person in the whole wide world was there to save the day."

"Yeah ... I'm off the hook for now, but just wait until she finds out what Santa's already brought her for next year."

"What do you mean?" Derek asks, frowning, bemused, as a slow smile crept over his wife's face. "Addie?"

"There's one present you have to open tonight, honey," she murmurs, catching his hand in hers as she moves past him toward the mantelpiece and the enormous tree, sparkling with garlands and ornaments and twinkling coloured lights.

Addison plucks a small box from the huge pile of festively wrapped gifts underneath the tree, and turns back toward Derek, pressing it into his hand. "I know our family tradition is to open all the gifts together on Christmas Day, but this one doesn't need an audience," she says, biting her lip, lifting her eyes to his face.

He cocks his head to one side, still confused. "Um, okay ..." Her soft smile seem to reassure him, and he shifts his attention to the gift in his hands. Quickly he undoes the ribbon and lifts the lid.

"Oh, Addie," he gasps when the top comes off the box, revealing a slim white plastic stick with two pink lines on it. "Oh my god. Really?" he looks from the box to his wife's face, shining now with a wide, full smile as she nods in confirmation.

"We're going to need another stocking next year," she says, and then lets out a squeak as her husband swept her off her feet and into a hug, both of them laughing as the gift box hit the floor.

"Another baby!" Derek exclaims in delight. "I don't know if you can tell, but I'm very very very happy. This is the best present ever, Addie." he peppers kisses all over her face until she huffs and grabs his ears, bringing his mouth to hers for a proper kiss.

"Did you see Dr. Geller? What did she say?" he asks when they came up for air.

She shakes her head. "I made an appointment for next week, after the New Year. We can go while Aurora's at preschool. I knew you wouldn't want to miss it."

"You know me so well." He kisses her again, and again, his broad palm settling over her still-flat abdomen, a reverent caress. "God, I love you."

"I love you too," she smiles against his lips, "but now that Aurora's back to sleep, we better get to work." she pats his chest and then slips out of his arms, tugging him toward the laundry room where the remaining gifts were hidden. "Come on, we've got a lot of stockings to stuff."

"I'd rather stuff -"

"Derek!"

He chuckles, sliding his arm around her waist and falling into step beside her. "Okay, okay. Back to work. I didn't know Mrs. Claus was such a taskmaster."

Addison smirks and arches an eyebrow at him as they move across the room. "Oh, don't worry. After we get all the presents into place, there might just be something else for you to unwrap."

"Ho, ho, ho!" Derek pronounces with a wide grin on his face and a twinkle in his eye. "And to all a good night."

* * *

 _ **Thanks for reading! Just a little silly fluffy fluff.**_

 _ **Happy Holidays guys!**_


	15. Chapter 15 - I Met Her in the Summer

_**Addek meeting in medical school. . . .**_

* * *

 **I Met Her in the Summer**

* * *

Derek first _notices_ her on a crisp Monday morning.

Well, not so much as a first time because he's already _noticed (gawked at)_ her plenty a times in Gross Anatomy for the past couple of months and their eyes even met over the cadaver that one time. He knew then, that he had to have her. Even if her name is still a mystery to him.

This time, though, he noticed her for an entirely different reason; he's alone and she is too. He's without his best friend and she doesn't have hers glued to her side, like she always does. They've never been alone together - as alone as one can be in a library filled with students.

He looks around as students drag through the old library, wiping sleep from their eyes. Their hair is mussed, and he's sure one even has their t-shirt on inside out and another is in flip flops of all footwear.

This time, though, she stands out, more so than ever, for the fact that she looks as if she's been awake for hours or centuries, even. Her clothes are pristine, and she walks with confidence. Her heels making muffled sounds on the thin carpet, but she is unbothered.

What he really _really_ notices, however, is her hair. _Her red head of hair_. It is magnificently radiant.

There's a cart full of books to his left, that the librarian must have laid for patrons to return after reading, and with a very bright idea, he grabs at the handle to push it towards the next isle, hot in pursuit after the pretty redhead, in order to watch her under the guise of _'working'_.

He's actually supposed to be studying.

She slides a book she has apparently come here to find from the shelf with absolute ease and is gone in a flash, but not before looking back at him over her shoulder, a grin tugging at her lips.

 _Shit._

-:-

The second time he sees her at the library, it is a Thursday and she is checking out old medical journals, ones even graduate students, like himself, can rarely remove from the library.

 _How'd she managed to talk them into letting her?_

 _Should he ask her if he could borrow them some time?_

 _Oh, gosh_ , he don't think he can even fake giving a damn about those medical journals; all he actually wants is to talk to her.

If Mark was here right now, he'd scoff and whisper under his breath about what an utter pathetic he is. He won't even disagree with him on that, won't complain and as expected, he doesn't do anything. He can hear that distinctive tone of his best friend's conjuring up and into his ear, laughing at him for his nervousness; his hands are sweating.

 _Seriously? Could you be more pathetic, Derek? Just talk to her already. If you won't , I will._

She's wearing a deep blue dress that stops right in the middle of her knees, elongating those gorgeous legs of hers and her hair are curled at the ends. Wire-framed glasses are perched on her nose as she reviews the items one last time.

He does the same as before - grabs the first cart he sees and pretends to be working at the library as he watches her from a quiet distance.

Blindly, he takes a book from the shelf, attempting to load it onto the metal cart but misses its place completely in his distraction and it clunks heavily to the floor, echoing in the quiet pillars of the library while an actual librarian glare at him and students shushing him in unison.

"Sorry." he mouths and gestures somehow before turning his gaze back to red hair. He sees read hair and blue eyes instead and she winks before turning her back and leaving.

 _Fuck._

-:-

The next time he sees her is on a damp and rainy Wednesday afternoon, nearly two weeks later.

Just this morning, she was cutting up a very dead body and yet again, like a charge of electricity, their eyes zeroed in on each other from across the room and in those azure wonders of hers, he sees his entire life - past, present and future.

He knew at that moment that she would be his wife.

Today, she looks spectacular - opting for a black thick-heeled Chelsea rainboots, and her outfit is more casual. Dark wash skinny jeans that only further accentuates her gorgeous Amazonian legs and a black button-up blouse. Her thick, long red mane is tied back delicately and sleekly with a black ribbon. She wears no rain coat, but carries a practical stick umbrella, which she easily slides into one of the plastic umbrella bags at the entryway. She lingers on the mat for a moment, inspecting herself for drippings before proceeding through the large building.

This time, she is slower and less sure about the section or item she has come to acquire. He sees her lick her lower lip before moving to the fiction.

 _Yes_ , the library is designed for University, but that doesn't mean they couldn't offer students and the community leisure and enjoyment, too.

Derek quickly swipes two fiction novels from the returns cart and heads her way. When he finds her, she's perusing the isle, glancing up and down, clearly intent on judging a book by its cover. He slides the first book into its place on the shelf absently, chancing another look at her.

"Are you following me?" she asks playfully, fingering the spine of a sappy romance novel. Her profile is regal, and there is a tiny beauty mark right on the bridge of her nose.

His face flushes crimson.

"N-" he begins to disagree and lie, but then, he sees her eyebrow raise and realises that she will easily catch him in that lie.

"Yes," he deflates.

She seems unperturbed by his admission, perhaps already knowing the answer before she had asked the question, herself.

A gentle hum emits from her throat as she finally picks a novel. "My friend suggests I should read more popular fiction," she fills in the silence, reading over the back of the cover. Her eyes squint slightly, and she slides the book back into its place.

"You should read what you enjoy," he says gently, his voice smooth.

She turns to him then, and he can finally see the full effect of her eyes up close. They are blue and alert; intelligent and mischievous. A small smile pulls at her lips. He has apparently passed muster. She reaches out to shake his hand.

"I'm Addison." He takes her hand and shakes it firmly. He has a feeling she wouldn't approve of the lady handshake Mark and him had been taught as a child at etiquette class, but hardly used, considering it archaic.

"Derek," he says confidently and finally, alas deciding to finally play his hand. "Would it be too forward of me to ask you out for coffee?"

"That depends," she begins, and he can hear the impish taunt in her voice. "Will I have to flirt with you for another month for you to speak with me again."

They both laugh softly for a moment before she seamlessly takes his wrist to slide a sticky note into his palm.

Addison slips past him easily, lifting the remaining novel from his hand, their fingers brushing. He feels electricity surge through his body, then.

As she walks to the checkout counter with the book, he looks at the note held between his forefinger and thumb and finally tries her name on his lips.

 _Addison Montgomery_

He thinks he might be in love.

/

 _ **Thank you Guest for this prompt. Hope you enjoyed this little story - Addek meeting in medical school.**_

 _ **To everyone, thanks for reading and hopefully you enjoyed as well. Please leave a review.**_

 _ **REVIEW!!**_


	16. Chapter 16 - Unicorns, Drama Queen and F

_**The Shepherd family is back. Fluffy fluff with Little Miss Aurora Shepherd. . . .**_

* * *

 **Unicorns, Drama Queen and Fairy Dust**

* * *

She was just about to pour herself another much needed cup of coffee when it appears as though a heap of blankets had just suddenly grown legs.

This cannot be how the world is going to end.

 _The walking blankets?_

Slowly putting down the kettle, she spies familiar tiny feet as she leans against the kitchen island; the feet advances soundlessly on the carpeted floor, its owner barely visible behind the entanglement of fabrics and she smiles to herself.

"Aurora," she says slowly, "What's going on, baby? Are you moving to a different room?" Addison catches up to her four-year-old daughter's pitter-pattering as she continues on marching decisively down the hallway.

"No," Aurora responds, careful to take a peek at her mother without falling, "This is for Papa because he is sick."

Addison's lips presses lightly together in discontent, a brow raises on reflex, but she says nothing.

Nothing at all.

Derek _has_ _indeed_ fallen prey to the bacteria that was tormenting their daughter just a few days ago - _yes_ , but it is nowhere as serious as he wants everyone to believe and nothing an Aspirin cannot fix instantly. However, he had called their Chief this morning informing him that he'll be taking a sick leave today - _oh_ , but, she guess it is for the best, he does have a cough _(barely, she's only heard him when she walks by or into their bedroom)_ and a runny nose _(it sounds so very forced)_ , she wouldn't want those with already-compromised-immunity to get any worse because she would like her husband to help around the house, instead of being a big baby.

She's got two babies now - one regular and the other a _drama queen_.

"You should at least keep one for your nap," she chose to say instead.

"No, Papa needs them all," her daughter insists, already so resolute beyond her age. The Headmaster at her preschool had even said so himself at the last parent-teacher conference, called her _highly intelligent_ and she, in return, had, perhaps very unnecessarily, yelled at him. But then again, he had basically and jokingly implied that her daughter wasn't _"normal, like the other children"_ as he put so eloquently.

She still doesn't understand how it got to her towering over Headmaster Gillies as she completely blew up at him.

Her daughter _is_ _highly intelligent_. Her daughter _is talented_. Her daughter _is special_ and _gifted_ , but that doesn't automatically mean that she has to be outcasted and boxed into _"not normal"_.

She doesn't get it.

 _Mama, you just yelled at Headmaster Gillies._

 _I'm sorry, honey, but he was very rude ... and ... condescending._

 _Yeah. He doesn't like me very much._

When her daughter said those words, it broke her heart to pieces. _How can anyone not like her daughter? How?_ All she wanted to do then was storm back into that office and show that tweed idiot what wrath really is.

She didn't, though.

"I'm sure he doesn't need all of them, honey," Addison's hand reaches to take some of the bundle in order to take off the load from her daughter before she happens to topple over because of it's overbearing size.

"Let Mama help you."

It was hard enough to watch her be sick with a cold for the past week. She doesn't want anything else grievous to befall her; she _had_ and she _would_ do anything and everything she can to try and keep her from becoming ill or feeling pain. But, sometimes, it is inevitable, something she has no control over, which really is unfair because it's devastating to watch Aurora's usually happy and energetic disposition turn into what can only be described as a zombie baby. While the snuggles may be nice, she would gladly trade her calm and quiet and lethargic demeanour for her usual mischievous behaviour if it meant she'd feel better.

"No," her daughter's arms wrap around the blankets with fierce protectiveness. It is striking for her to see the resemblance of her own determination reflected in her daughter's ocean blue eyes, her father's.

With a huff, she compiles with Aurora's orders. There is nothing left for her to do but follow the tiny toddler, walking beside her and watching her closely, ready to catch her if needed, as she continues to make her way down the corridor.

Luckily, no accidents occurred, and they arrive at their destination safely. She raps at the door at Aurora's instruction before stepping over the threshold of the bedroom.

 _*cough, cough*_

 _*sniff, sniff*_

She rolls her eyes at her husband's relentlessness.

They find Derek lying in bed, looking appropriately weak and miserable, but Addison can see an evident spark of excitement illuminating his eyes when he sees them both entering the room.

Arms crossed, she remains standing at the doorway as their daughter marches on, guided by the clear purpose of her mission.

"Hey, _lovebug_ ," Derek sits up at once as she approaches the bed, and Addison raises a sceptical eyebrow at this sudden outburst of energy.

"What's all this?"

Aurora places all the blankets on the bed and then scrambles to follow their suit.

"For you, Papa."

Smiling, Derek leans forward, lifts her up and sets her down next to him, kissing her head. He seems to have made a rapid recovery, the previous look of grave malady now gone completely, but she says nothing, nothing at all, still observing the scene before her from her spot by the door.

Their daughter wastes no time in getting to the point of her visit and begins to explain the properties and functions of the various blankets. Apparently, the best one for when you are feeling sick, and are in need of a rest, is the pink one with the explosion of unicorns, which Auntie Amelia had gifted her for Christmas. She proceeds to spread the blanket over Derek's chest, and he lies down compliantly, allowing her to wrap him up in the fabric.

She uncrosses her arms and an instant smile blossoms against her lips, her heart swelling with delight as Aurora continues to ensure Derek is comfortable and warm.

"Are you cold, Papa?"

"No, _love_ , I'm feeling quite warm and cozy."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Aurora. Thank you very much for the blankets. I see you're the only one who cares about Papa." Derek says with a sly smile, throwing a wink at her as she scoffs silently.

"Mama cares too."

Finally, feeling satisfied with her work, their daughter moves from her spot on the bed and climbs back down, but not without giving her father a big kiss.

"We should make tea for Papa," she walks back to her at the door and stands in front of her, "To make Papa feel much better."

Addison smiles gently at her, taken by her unfaltering care.

"Papa is feeling fine, _chèrie_ ," she tries to reassure her, tucking her hair behind her ear, but Aurora's eyes turns wide instead, crestfallen that she will be unable to help her father.

 _Shit._

The dejection in her eyes is so much like Derek's and she thinks it will never cease to amaze her how she's able to see them both echoing within their daughter.

"Alright, _honey_ , tea it is," she concedes and bends down, extending her arms towards Aurora who wraps hers around her neck instantly while she lifts her.

"And toast too," Aurora's disposition becomes cheerful once again, "With butter and jam," she cuddles to Addison, continuing to list things they need to prepare for Derek's _'recovery'_.

As they set to leave the room, she can sense Derek's wide smirk imprinting on her back. She turns her head back and gives him a stern look, but he merely continues to smile, his hands moving to straighten the pink blankie covering his torso, ever the perfect patient.

 _Whoever said doctors makes the worst patients?_

"We should find a pretty cup for Papa's tea," she turns her face to her daughter who exclaims happily in agreement, "Something to match the unicorns. Maybe the pink one ... with all the glitter," her eyes glances back at Derek once more, now smiling smugly back at him, "He seems to really enjoy unicorns, no?"

/

 _ **Thank you all so much for reading. Hope you enjoyed. This was a really fun and short piece to write. Please leave a review and let me know what you think. :)**_


	17. Chapter 17 - Prima Donna

_The first time Addison bought lingerie to display for Derek. . . ._

* * *

 **Prima Donna**

* * *

The delicate lace flows between her fingers, making the intricate details unfold under her touch. Red flowers cover the bottom of the brassiere with the same coloured sprigs venturing up, along with a few stems to mark an otherwise uncovered cup. The bottoms matches the top - flowers to mark the hips with a mostly transparent behind. It's something out of mesh and it reminds her of one of those ... _things_ Derek brings along when he goes fishing.

Addison appraises the piece, scrutinising its cut until she sees a woman in her peripheral vision and she turns - _fuck_ \- "Can I help you, ma'am?" the boutique assistant approaches her with a wide welcoming smile and an eagerness in her step that does nothing to make her less uncomfortable.

 _If she did, she'd ask her for help the second she walked in. But she didn't - for a reason._

" _Nothankyou,_ " she dismisses her offer, quickly and all in one breath. Perhaps sounding a lot harsher than intended, but she can excuse it with her need to be invisible and ignored.

It's her first time doing something like ... _this_ _(they've been together for over five years, it's a shock that they still manage to have firsts)_ and she knows she shouldn't be ashamed or embarrassed, because - _what is there to be_ \- it's just undergarments and it's totally normal, just as it would be if she were to be buying _normal-everyday-not-too-overpriced-and-no-one-is-going-to-peel-them-off-you-like-you-are-a-delicate-flower_ underwear at Bloomingdales.

This is _normal_ , she tells herself, trying to get herself to loosen up a bit.

The garment is well crafted, she can tell at once. She has always appreciated beautiful lingerie, enjoying having something exquisite hidden beneath her daily attire. But this piece is not meant to be tucked away under silks and tweeds and navy scrubs. It is meant to be displayed - displayed for someone else, that isn't her.

The corners of her mouth twitches once as she reconsiders the idea. "Red is your colour," the woman does not give up on the chance of a commission as Addison continues to examine the attire.

She does not counter the feeble attempt of flattery, nor does she respond; she knows the woman is right, though. Derek has commented on that a few sometimes already. Mostly at the dresses she wears. Yet red is not a colour she would normally be drawn to at first _(her hair is already red, wouldn't there be too many clashes of red going on?)_ , another betraying sign of the true purpose of her endeavour. She recalls, last week at his cousin's wedding, shining dark eyes reflecting her visage and soaking up the image of her dressed in red, tinting their shade with pinpoints of the same colour.

 _You look gorgeous in red, Addie. Have I told you that already?_

 _Not in so many words._

With a decisive swipe of her hand, she takes the hanger off the wall and makes her way to the dressing room, no doubt closely observed by the saleswoman, but luckily, she does not follow her. She closes the door behind her and appraises the overly velvety interior of the space. Taking off her jacket, she drapes it over the armchair in the corner, the vermilion red of its upholstery staring back at her almost defensively; there is no escaping the similar hues it seems.

It's screaming red everywhere.

Her dress and undergarments are looking so tamed by comparison and they follow, she slowly slips on the detailed lace. She adjusts the brassiere much longer than needed as if reluctant to look at her own reflection.

When she finally looks up, she cannot help but smile. The fabric envelopes her body elegantly, accentuating her curves in just the right way, playful and teasing in its half-reveal. The hue appears darker against her creamy, fair skin, like deep arterial blood suddenly rising in floras on the surface of her body.

Addison lets her hands trail sides of her body, admiring the gratifying view.

 _She does look striking._

As her hands reach her hips, she thinks of Derek's sure touch, setting off sparks beneath her skin with a mere brush of his fingertips. She imagines him tracing the lines of the undergarments, eager fingers wanting nothing more than to unwrap the remaining gems of her body concealed by the fabric, even if barely. Suddenly, she feels her nipples hardening, each shallow breath pushing them against the lace, the friction only arousing her further. Instant heat rises beneath her belly as she shifts in her spot.

Brushing off the increasingly stimulating thoughts, she removes the lingerie with haste; it would be beyond inappropriate to ruin the fabric even before she buys it. Leaving the dressing room with the set held tightly between her fingers, she goes straight to the cash counter before she could change her mind.

"For a boyfriend? Husband?" the saleswoman asks with a practised yet still genuine smile, carefully wrapping the lace in black paper.

Detesting any social preconceptions, Addison would normally frown at such attempts of familiarity and presuming to know her, but the previous musings at the dressing room still lingers with pleasant warmth cruising through her entire body, and it tingles, sure that this tension will be relieved soon.

"Husband," she admits unexpectedly as the woman hands her the bag.

They've been married for over a year now but somehow the word still feels new and foreign and _good_ on her tongue, warming her further.

 _Husband._

She's a Shepherd. She ' _Dr. Shepherd'_ now.

She takes the package and leaves the boutique before the flush of her cheeks becomes ruby bright.

 **x x x**

The dinner passes in _unusual silence_ as Addison's thoughts keep venturing off to the package hidden away in the wardrobe. With a strange fusion of hesitation and anticipation, she picks at her sea bass without really savouring it.

If Derek noticed her distraction _(she is certain he must have)_ , he kept it mostly to himself, settling for enjoying his meal in quietude. But she cannot say he didn't try to get her attention, to question about their mysterious solitude.

"Everything okay, Addie? Did something happen at the hospital?"

"No. Everything is fine."

"Are you sure?"

She gives him a nod of her head.

When the plates and glasses are finally empty, he sets to clear the table and she excuses herself at once, before her over-analytical mind banishes what she planned next altogether.

She retrieves the lingerie from the bedroom and slips, unobserved, into the bathroom. Her usual long bath is foregone in favour of a shorter cleanse, merely a steppingstone in her preparations for tonight. A bottle of scented balm awaits on the side table and she applies it lavishly over her body, encasing herself in the aroma of freesias. When her skin is soft and fragrant, she finally unwraps the paper and puts on the new lingerie with care.

She appraises herself in the gilded mirror again, making sure her locks remain intact. Adjusting a few unruly strands, she can see a glow emanating from her skin, but she attributes it to the effectiveness of the hot water and balm. The lace is sitting comfortable on her curves, appearing even more tempting than before under the golden lights of the bathroom. She adds a finishing touch of red lipstick, matching the shade of the undergarment; if the purpose of the outfit were not completely settled before, it definitely is now.

She presses her lips gently to even out the coat and inhales deeply. She has never done this for a lover before. Nervousness and excitement make her blood rush anew. She has never enjoyed being on display for someone, but now the anticipation of Derek's reaction makes her heart flutter and fingertips quiver with impatience.

She steps away from the mirror just as Derek's weary voice sounds from behind the door. "Is everything alright in there, Addison?"

Her tongue feels heavy in her mouth and she can find no response, but smiles to herself nonetheless as she turns the knob and steps out of the bathroom in a haze of steam and perfume.

She sees him unrolling the sleeves of his shirt and buttoning it up at his wrists.

"Addison, if you - are you-" Derek turns at the sound of the door opening and the words get lost in his mouth as they fall open at the sight of her, hand half suspended in the air.

Still smiling, Addison steps closer, mix of hyperconsciousness and arousal reaching a new peak, now that she is faced with his reaction. But when his eyes continue to watch her tentatively, mouth agape and saying nothing, the apprehension advances ahead. Perhaps, she has misjudged his tastes.

"You don't like it," she proclaims, ready to retreat back into the bathroom.

"Yes - no. I mean I _do_ like it," he manages to get the words out at last, his face flushed with sudden shyness, making her realise that his silence was not a sign of disapproval, but a sudden return to his boyish self.

He looks utterly endearing; Addison's exhilaration soars.

Now she can see him managing to collect himself enough to close the remaining distance between them. His hands rests on the small of her back as his gaze trails heat over her skin just the way she imagined he would. His continued bashfulness mingles with unrestrained lust and Addison finds herself breathing faster as his hands move to explore the lines his eyes marked. Curious fingers trace the outline of the embroidery, thumb skimming teasingly over the half-covered nipple, prompting a soft moan to fall from her lips.

This is exactly what she was hoping for and much much more, his touch has always been a thrilling surprise. Derek dips his head, lips caressing her exposed cleavage and the mounts of her breasts, before kneeling in front of her and continuing his journey down her abdomen, marking the way with slow kisses. Admiration of his favourite masterpiece in a magnificent new frame.

"You are _perfect_. Everything is just _perfect_ about you," he declares, placing a kiss beneath her belly button and then lower, and lower, making her legs tremble, lace already soaking wet; she no longer cares about ruining the ensemble.

Her fingers tangle in his hair, making him look up at her, eyes gleaming ocean blue with familiar dark undertones, yet there is nothing but adoration and desire beneath the luminosity, a tamed beast at her feet.

"I am certain other girls have dressed for you before, Derek," she continues to stroke his hair, luxuriating in his affection. Also, she already knows the answer to that one, but it wouldn't hurt to hear it from him again.

Derek's tilts his head as though the mere idea of any past lovers were incredulous. He stands up slowly, hands reversing their journey up her back, making her body shiver and press forward, pliant under his expert touch.

" _You_ have not dressed up for me before," the slight tremor in his voice betrays his emotions further, "No one else matters but _you_ , Addison."

She briefly averts her gaze, feeling a fresh blush advancing under her cheeks. One of his hands rests on the back of her brasserie, fingers tracing the hook closure teasingly and the confinement of the lace no longer serves her breasts, now pushing against his chest in a silent plea for him to remove the barrier. He inclines his head again, this time to press her lips against hers, burning red and equally tempting. His other hand ventures to her behind, squeezing it firmly before wrapping itself around her body. Her arms encircle his neck as he lifts her up with ease.

"We need to make sure that your efforts are not wasted," Derek whispers into her ear while carrying her slowly in the direction of the bedroom, a thrilling promise of pleasure to come making her sigh in response.

Soon, the fine pieces of lace lay discarded on the floor, red petals of flowers blossomed and fallen. They hold each other closely, minds and bodies entwined in bliss, branches reaching high in their exuberant growth.

The floret buds in their hearts are only beginning to bloom.

/

 _ **Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed. ;) This one is a little different for me, I don't usually write stories like this. It was fun though.**_

 _ **I have no ideas what's happening, I've been deathly uninspired lately (a little more than lately), hopefully writing OneShots will wake my brain up!!**_

 _ **REVIEW!!**_


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